Homeostasis
by PirateShipping
Summary: When Robin the Amnesiac is found in a field, Frederick the Wary is understandably concerned. But as his suspicions fade, his frustration grows; and looking after a woman who can't recall the most basic skills of self-preservation proves to be quite the challenge.
1. Chapter 1 - Sleeping Potential

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: First fanfic. Rate, Comment, and Share._

**_Chapter 1 – Sleeping Potential_**

It was no secret that Frederick distrusted the Shepherds' new tactician.

From the moment her unconscious form was first salvaged from that field, Robin's lack of identity and Plegian robes had practically s_creamed_ "enemy spy". But to Frederick's dismay, his words of caution went unheeded. He watched her like a hawk that first day, poised to take her down if she made any sudden movements towards his noble charges. He was almost surprised when she did not act, even more so when she offered her assistance in that first dangerous conflict that beset the group. But the amnesiac's bizarre manner didn't end there.

Mere seconds after discovering her ability to use weapons, Robin had charged into the thick of the fight like a madwoman. She was a tiny thing, pale hair whirling about her as she flung novice spells and flailed her rusty sword at the enemies that quickly had her surrounded.

She also revealed a hidden, rapier intellect; analyzing the bandit's defenses with streams of detailed babbling about strategy. But despite this, she seemed painfully unaware of her own perilous actions. Two axes whizzed by her head, missing her by inches as she excitedly pointed out her attacker's weaknesses and Chrom tried frantically to keep up with her advance. While her newfound gift in battle tactics would normally leave Frederick at the least bit impressed; the knight was too busy panicking as he watched his beloved prince and princess leap to her defense in the fray.

Robin sustained at least six life-threatening wounds in that first battle, grunting in surprised pain each time Lissa had to sprint over and patch up her crumpled form with a staff. And each time thereafter, the tactician would spring right back up and head straight for the nearest enemy while Frederick scrambled to keep the princess out of harm's way. Chrom was always on Robin's heels, trying desperately to draw the attention of the bandits she left in her wake as she cheated blow after blow of certain death. The prince did what he could to protect her slumping form from any remaining adversaries as Robin staggered to a halt and began bleeding out… again.

The entire experience hadn't done much to lessen Frederick's malcontent with the strange woman; after all, her lack of self-preservation had put his royal charges in a fair amount of danger. But her intelligent use of strategy had won them the battle against poor odds, and at the very least, Frederick's suspicions about her were partially quelled. Any Plegian spy that would hurl themselves into such danger, and need to be brought back from the brink of death multiple times, was clearly not a very _good_ spy. The same reason could aptly defend her claim to amnesia: for Frederick was convinced that she had to have _some_ sort of mental handicap to act as rashly as she did.

Robin's behavior was otherwise normal. She chatted amiably with the prince and princess and ate her bear-meat without complaint. She had no explanation for her extensive knowledge of battle tactics, but Chrom and Lissa were thankful enough. Frederick was sure to keep both eyes open around her, but by the time Robin was officially welcomed into the Shepherds, there was nothing he could do but spout the same tired warning to his liege.

"Naga's tears, Frederick…" Chrom scrubbed a hand over his face as the knight confronted him, _"enough_ about Robin! She's staying, and that's final. The Shepherds could really use a tactician as brilliant as her, you can't deny that she's already been a huge help."

"Yes, but milord-!" he began adamantly.

"_No buts_! I don't want to hear any more about her being a hazard, or a spy, or whatever it is you want to accuse her of. Her dedication to our cause has been more than enough to earn my trust, Fredrick." The prince fixed him with a warning glare, but there was no real anger behind it. Chrom knew that such suspicions were simply the nature of Frederick the Wary.

"Look…" the prince sighed as his knight obediently held his tongue with a sour look, "we both know that Robin still has some… adjusting to do. And as much as you distrust her, the only person she's really managed to endanger thus far is herself. If you really feel that she's still a threat, why don't _you_ keep track of her?"

"Milord, surely my time is better spent serving yourself and Lady Lissa," Frederick protested.

"And you will be. The tactician responsible for keeping us alive in battle could certainly use some help in the form of your watchful eye and expert training."

The knight prepared to voice his dissent, but Chrom's tone had effectively closed the matter. With a resigned "yes, milord," Frederick excused himself to leave the prince in peace.

* * *

><p>Robin's proper training began in the dark hours of the morning on the day that the Shepherds were set to march. She tumbled out of her bed sleepily and pulled on her boots while Frederick barked at her to quicken her pace.<p>

"Geez, Frederick, we're not in a prison camp…" the tactician complained groggily, attempting to smooth her mess of pale hair.

"_Sir _Frederick," he corrected icily, "And as your training instructor, it is my duty to enforce an efficient schedule: we only have so many hours each morning before the company marches."

Robin gave him a tired look, but remained silent as she pulled on her coat.

Frederick wasted no time in launching into his agenda. The first hour was spent running, and while the tactician's endurance and speed wasn't bad for a woman of her size, it wasn't great either. Frederick kept on her heels the entire time, reciting mantras about honorable military service. He expected her to complain, but even as her pace dragged and her panting increased, she didn't say a word. When the exercise was over, she merely braced her hands on her knees, blinking her dark-circled eyes, and awaited his next instructions.

The rest of their time was spent on basic weaponry drills, and Frederick had to admit, even by novice standards she was sluggish with her sword that morning. How she had managed to survive on the battlefield was a mystery, because her skills definitely needed some work. They ended the session with Frederick doubting that Robin had improved at all.

Barely fazed by such a strenuous morning routine, Frederick quickly set about preparing for the day's march. As the Shepherds headed out, he noted Robin's position at the back of the party, a satisfyingly safe distance from his royal charges at the front.

It wasn't until later that day that the knight was bothered to think of her again - and not exactly under pleasant circumstances.

"…Where's Robin?" Lissa had called, confusion lacing her voice as the scanned the convoy.

Frederick remained on his path, leading the horses of a supply cart while the other Shepherds glanced around.

"Huh, coulda sworn she was right here..."

"Did anyone check the wagons?"

"Her disappearance is most peculiar to escape my notice."

"Yeah, Teach hasn't seen her in a while…"

"Roooobin!"

Frederick frowned. If the woman really had been a spy, and was now making her departure, she couldn't have gained much from her mission. After a brief check of the supply carts, it was clear that nothing had been tampered with or stolen. The only thing missing was her.

"Milady, please stay with me," Frederick rode over the now-panicked Lissa and ushered the cleric princess to his side. If, Naga forbid, the suspiciously vanished tactician really _did_ have an assassination scheme in the works, he wanted to be ready and within reach. He scanned the area quickly for his other charge.

"Milord?" he called when he realized the blue-haired royal was nowhere to be seen. He looked past the end of the convoy, and caught sight of a manned horse disappearing over the hill they had just traversed. Pulling Lissa onto his own armored mare, he took off in pursuit.

They doubled-back on the trail for about a half-mile before reaching the treeline of a forest, where Chrom was currently pulling a very disoriented, familiar tactician onto the horse he had swiped from Stahl. Lissa sighed in relief from her spot in the back of Frederick's saddle.

"_Frederick_," the prince groaned as he steered his mount back towards the knight and his sister, "I thought you were keeping an eye on her!"

Robin was currently draped over his shoulder and half-conscious, but otherwise unharmed.

"What happened, milord?!" the knight demanded in alarm, turning his horse around to accompany Chrom's mount back to the convoy.

"I found Robin nearly passed out on the trail! She was stumbling along like she was dead on her feet. _Look_," he gestured to the petite arm in his grasp that was trembling slightly from the effort of clinging to his cape.

Frederick frowned. "Milord, it is simply a trial of endurance; she would do well to make more of an effort to keep up on the march. The others can manage it just fine."

"The _others_ weren't awake way past midnight planning battle strategy with Miriel and me," Chrom narrowed his gaze. "Did you start her training _this morning_?"

"Of course, milord," he answered matter-of-factly.

"How early?"

"Two hours prior to dawn."

Frederick realized the implications of his statement as he spoke it.

"Ugh, Frederick!" Lissa piped up indignantly, "why would you be so _mean_?!"

"Tis not malice, milady."

"Yeah, but look at the poor girl! No sleep, no breakfast, no energy... and sore muscles I'll bet." She grimaced sympathetically at the limp tactician.

Frederick fell silent as the group ventured back into sight of the convoy. He did feel guilty for causing his noble liege the trouble and worry over Robin's current condition, but he couldn't bring himself to truly pity the sleeping girl on Chrom's back. Her physical weakness was not his _concern_, and in his personal opinion, simple drowsiness was easily remedied by a bit of iron will.

The pair of horses bobbed along the path, with Chrom clutching the tactician's arm to keep her safely in the saddle behind him as she nodded off against his shoulder. The prince seemed to be mulling over his thoughts.

"...Robin doesn't seem to know her limitations," he finally spoke up, earning the attention of his sister and lieutenant. "Or at least, she doesn't seem to _remember _them." He continued, "So until she gets a grasp on it, we are _all_ _responsible_ for helping her regulate her health," the prince shot Frederick a pointed look, "including sleep-deprivation."

The knight scowled, flicking a cursory glance at the sad sack of a woman slumped against the prince. Limitations _indeed_. But he nodded anyway.

"Yes, milord."


	2. Chapter 2 - Broken Promise

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: Reviews and Critiques are always lovely, don't be shy._

**_Chapter 2 – Broken Promise_**

The Shepherds ended up making camp nearby that night. Although Frederick would have liked to continue on a bit further, he didn't dare argue with Chrom's insistence that there had been enough marching for one day. He also didn't dare refute the strict ban on training that Lissa - with her healer's authority - had placed on Robin for the time being. After a couple days of adequate sleep and hardy marching (and a little help from Stahl's borrowed horse), the tactician was as energetic as ever and ready for action.

The party was slowly making their way north, heading towards the nation of Regna Ferox. There were plans to meet with one of the country's rulers – a khan – with a request for an alliance against the ever-growing threat of Plegia. Hopes were high that the honorable warrior nation would prove diplomatic, but even Chrom didn't know what to expect from a meeting with Ylisse's secluded northern neighbor. As the Shepherds drew closer to the border, Frederick-the-Wary became Frederick-the-even-more-Wary.

Robin found the knight one morning, awake and polishing swords much earlier than his normal schedule permitted. After a night of fitful sleep, Frederick was simply too restless and anxious to remain in the comfort of his cot. Instead, he strapped into his armor and busied himself with menial tasks until the rest of the Shepherds awoke, polishing and tending to weaponry that was already shiny and razor-sharp. He hadn't realized that the clanking of his armor plates was loud enough to rouse the occupant of the nearest tent.

"Good morning, Frederick," a polite voice greeted him.

He immediately straightened up from where he was bent over his work in concentration. Robin stood before him, attempting to pull her hair up into a pony-tail while she blinked sleepily.

"Good morning," he replied tersely, readjusting the blade in his lap to scrub at the other side.

The petite female observed him curiously, and Frederick wished she would go away. His breath came out in visible, warm puffs as he worked, but the cold morning air was not enough to drive the tactician back to her tent. _Why is she awake, anyway?_ He grumbled internally.

Robin cleared her throat, earning another disapproving glance from the busy knight.

"So look, I was thinking…" she began, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves, "that, um… I maybe need some more training."

Frederick paused his work to frown up at her.

"…Sir." She tacked on as an afterthought.

The knight huffed, going back to his task. "What makes you think so?" He asked flatly. He knew _exactly_ why she needed more training – she nearly got herself killed in every conflict, and she was still greatly lacking in the stamina department. But that wasn't his problem.

The tactician shrugged. "I'm not strong enough."

Such veiled arrogance; somebody pay this actress. "The Prince was most upset about the results of our last training session," Frederick growled, not bothering to look up from his work. "Perhaps you should train _on_ _your_ _own_."

Robin grimaced. "Jeez, alright. I can take a hint." She stepped back, "I'll uh… I'll be over by the practice equipment, then."

Frederick sighed in satisfaction as she wandered off. He still didn't trust her, but he was confident that if she caused any trouble, he would certainly hear it in the silent camp. Contented by the thought, he returned to his polishing in peace.

He finished his work with the weapons, and with nothing better to do, set about preparing breakfast for the camp as the sun reached higher above the horizon. A few of the other Shepherds were beginning to wake, emerging from their tents and shuddering against the morning chill. It would soon be time to march; and judging from the looming clouds in the distance and the frosted grass underfoot, they would most likely be meeting their first snowstorm as they headed farther north.

Frederick finished with the food, and decided to make a final round of the camp perimeter before officially rousing the rest of the company. He was walking past the equipment carts when he heard a crash and strangled yelp.

Nerves heightening at the sound, he quickly sought out the source. What he found was Robin, kneeling in the grass beside a broken training dummy and an axe at least twice her size.

"What _happened?!_" Frederick thundered as he approached.

The girl flinched visibly and peered over her shoulder at him. "Sir Frederick! I'm sorry!" she made an effort to rise and stumbled, trying to hastily straighten her clothes, "I was experimenting with some techniques and weapons, and…" her expression flickered with discomfort as she stood up fully and surveyed the damage, "Well, I guess swordplay doesn't exactly carry over… I'm really sorry. It was dumb."

The knight pinched the bridge of his nose. "The equipment can be _fixed_," he ground out finally, "but I would _suggest_ you refrain from attempting such stunts in the future."

"Yes, Sir." She winced as she shifted her weight, "…I think I'll stick to what I know from now on."

"Then do so," he remarked coldly, gathering up the dummy and axe to pack in the supply wagon.

He left the sullen tactician without another glance.

* * *

><p>"<strong>FREDERICK<strong>_."_

Startled, the knight looked down at the scowling blonde princess that had come stomping up to his horse. The Shepherds were currently on the march, and as predicted, flakes of snow were just beginning to drift down from the blanket of clouds. There was still a considerable amount of distance to cover before they reached Ferox, and Frederick had been _hoping_ that the journey would go smoothly.

"Yes milady? What's wrong?"

"_Where_ is ROBIN?" Lissa demanded.

He resisted the urge to blanch at her tone.

"At the back of the convoy, I believe," he answered evenly. At least, that was where he had last seen the tactician when they headed out that morning.

"Yeah, well, she's not there."

Frederick frowned. _Again?_

"Are you sure?" He turned around in his saddle and scoured the entire party for the telltale dark cloak.

"Yes, I'm sure." Lissa narrowed her gaze at him. "And I have a feeling that _you_ have something to do with it."

"Milady, I assure you, if she has fallen behind again, it is not because of me," the knight protested, "I've not trained with her at all."

The cleric grumbled something unintelligible.

At that moment, Sully came trotting up alongside the pair. "Hey, calm your pigtails - Chrom found her," The redhead announced, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "But you'd better come have a look."

Gripping her staff, Lissa scurried off, prompting Fredrick to follow her. They made their way to the back of the party, and found Chrom hiking up the path towards them with the tactician, as promised.

This time, Robin was very much awake, averting her eyes in embarrassment as the prince carried her piggy-back style.

"Milord!" Frederick sputtered at the sight, "Why- What is the meaning of this foolishness?!" His royal liege, bearing a common soldier like a mule?! The knight just about had a stroke.

"Not _now_," Chrom snapped, silencing Frederick's indignant outrage. The prince halted in front of his curious sister and gingerly lowered himself to the ground, sliding the tactician off his back.

"What's wrong?!" Lissa knelt down, noticing the glimmer of unshed tears in Robin's eyes.

The tactician cleared her throat and gave her friend a reassuring smile, "It's nothing, my feet are just a little sore." She turned to hiss at Chrom, "You didn't have to _carry_ me."

The prince ignored her with a scowl, "Her feet are not _just a little sore_," he growled, "she can't _walk._ Something's wrong with her left foot."

"Here, let me have a look," Lissa insisted gently.

Reluctantly obliging her request, Robin shuffled her leg over, hiding a look of discomfort at the action. The princess reached out to carefully pull her boot off, but was immediately stopped by a startled cry of pain.

"Nnngh! Okay stop- _stop!"_ The tactician clenched her teeth.

"Robin, I need to get the boot off your foot. This looks bad." Lissa said seriously, forehead crumpled in concern.

"Should we try cutting it off?" Chrom asked from over her shoulder.

"I guess we're gonna have to," the cleric sighed.

Robin clutched at her leg with a panicked look.

"DON'T CUT OFF MY FOOT!" she wailed.

Chrom winced, "Peace, Robin-"

"Milord was suggesting the need to cut off the BOOT," Frederick finally stepped in, looking down at the tactician sternly. "I'll fetch the shears," he sighed as she calmed down.

He retrieved the needed tools from the medical supplies, and returned to the trio. By now, the other Shepherds had all been drawn to the commotion; and stood watching while Lissa and Chrom carefully stripped off the leather boot in pieces and Robin hissed in pain.

"There, that wasn't so b- oh my." Lissa blanched as she rolled up Robin's pant leg and finally exposed the tactician's bare foot.

The limb was grotesquely swollen, and colored in angry shades of red and purple. Despite the inflammation, it was clear that the shape of the ankle was not natural. Robin whimpered as Lissa cautiously ran her fingers over the flesh.

"… That is _definitely_ broken."

"Spectacular," Robin groaned weakly.

Lissa reached over to snatch her staff up out of the grass. It began to glow with a soft blue light as she held it closer to the injury.

"Don't worry, I should be able to fix you up just fine…" she trailed off, concentrating on her work. Robin sighed as the healing magic began to alleviate her discomfort. After a moment, the princess clucked her tongue. "The break itself doesn't appear to be that bad, but everything around it is a mess! You shouldn't have been walking on it for so long!" she berated the tactician.

"I didn't know it was broken… I just thought it would get better on its own," Robin muttered sheepishly, "I didn't think it was worth complaining to anyone about…"

Frederick sniffed. At least Robin had the right idea about not burdening others with her issues. But… perhaps she _had _taken it too far. He stared quietly at the pale-headed girl clutching her broken limb. Somewhere beneath the cold confines of his armor, his heart thumped briefly with pity at the sight.

"So when did this happen?" Chrom asked the tactician.

She shrugged. "It started hurting this morning, if that's what you mean…"

"Yes, but what did you _do_ to make it hurt?"

Robin shrugged again, avoiding the question. Frederick's brow lowered as the situation suddenly clicked.

"…Would this perhaps be the result of your mishap with the training equipment?" he spoke up.

Robin's cheeks colored slightly, and the royal siblings both turned to fix the knight with suspicious glares.

"_What _mishap?" Chrom inquired testily.

"I happened upon her practicing with inappropriate weaponry that she had no proper instruction in," the knight reported dutifully while Robin averted her gaze. "She managed to do away with one of the target dummies in her efforts."

The prince raised his eyebrows at the tactician.

"I know, I'm sorry," she swallowed, "I just wanted to get some training in, and I didn't really know how, and I broke the thing and it fell on me and I bent my foot funny and… I'm really sorry."

Chrom sighed and shook his head, but a small smile graced his lips. "It's not your fault… but you should really be more careful."

"And _tell_ _someone_ when you're _hurt_, why don't ya?" Lissa grumbled by her feet.

"And that." The prince nodded. "Besides, if you really want to train that badly, why not ask Frederick to train you some more? I'm sure he'd be happy to help, as long as he knows not to run you like a slave driver…" he flicked a pointed look at the knight.

Frederick, meanwhile, was beginning to feel the bogging sensation of guilt. Robin _had_ asked him to train her this morning – this was inadvertently _his_ fault for turning her down.

The knight glanced over at the tactician, and they locked eyes. He took a deep breath, anticipating the next words out of her mouth to condemn him for his callousness.

"I'll… be sure to do that," was all she said. She gave Chrom a convincing smile.

"Good," the prince clapped her gently on the shoulder. "Now. As soon as Lissa finishes, we'll need to get back on the move if we want to make it to the border by sundown."

"Um. She's not going to be walking _anywhere_ for the rest of the day," the princess interjected without looking up from her work, "She needs to stay off this foot if she wants it to heal completely. Plus, she only has one boot now."

Chrom blew out a sigh and scratched his head.

"Well, I suppose I could just carry you again," he looked down at Robin, "you're not very heavy..."

"Absolutely _not_."

The three turned to look at Fredrick's scowling form.

"Milord, you mustn't burden yourself," he elaborated calmly. "She can ride with me."


	3. Chapter 3 - Cold Hearted

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: Reviews always motivate me to write more; and critiques about what is going well or what can be improved, both in my style and content, is always appreciated. Also, please excuse my chapter-title puns. I simply can't resist._

**_Chapter Three – Cold Hearted_**

Frederick was in a foul mood; and not just because there was an unwanted girl in his lap.

The party had nearly reached the Feroxi border, and many of the Shepherds were on edge. Between the stress, the unsavory bear-meat lunch, and the previous restless night, Frederick was already beginning to tire of the journey. However, he was personally determined to remain alert and ready to defend his charges should tensions arise at the border fort that loomed in the distance.

Having to share his horse with the tactician was not helping his state of mind. Although Robin had kept mercifully silent for most of the journey, her intruding presence between the knight and his reigns was unwelcome. Luckily, she was small enough not to impede his steering or his lance arm – but only just. As it was, she sat wedged in front of him on the saddle, her bound foot folded across the seat and her pale hair tickling his chin.

Frederick would much rather have offered the extra seat to Lord Chrom or Lady Lissa, but both were adamant about the arrangement. The knight sighed as he watched his royal charges plod along through the snow on foot, and he felt Robin shiver against his chest.

"Do you require a blanket?" he asked her for the third time.

She shook her head jerkily, but the shivering didn't stop.

The bitter northern winds had picked up, and while the rest of the party was properly outfitted against the cold (even a certain shirtless axe-wielder had been wrestled into a sweater), it would seem that Robin's heavy Plegian cloak was not as warm as it appeared to be.

The tactician hunched forwards, huddling in her dark robes as she shifted restlessly in the saddle.

"What's wrong?" Frederick demanded tiredly.

"N-nothing," her teeth chattered, "your chest plate just isn't the m-most comfortable thing t-to be leaning on."

The knight scowled down at the back of her head. "Then perhaps I should fetch you a blanket," he offered flatly.

"I'm _f-fine_," she snapped, straightening up. "I don't n-need you looking after me."

Frederick harrumphed at her words. Fine. Let her be stubborn, then.

The pair fell silent. Robin continued to shiver quietly against the front of his armor, and as much as Frederick tried to ignore it, a sense of concern gnawed at him. The sharp plates of his exoskeleton were undoubtedly hard on her back, and by now the metal had cooled to an icy temperature. He was fine under his many layers, but his stubborn passenger had only her cloak to put between them.

He debated telling Lissa about Robin's condition. If anyone, the cleric princess would surely be able to coax her into accepting some warmer covers. Perhaps with a pillow and some hot tea…

The knight shook himself. No, he should not be wasting his time with such thoughts. Robin had made her choice – if she was going to be stubborn about it, so be it. Why should he care if she was uncomfortable? It was his job to watch and transport her, nothing more.

…Still, he caught himself wishing that he didn't wear so much armor.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ylissian<em> _royalty_? Hah! And I'm the queen of Valm!"

The jeering call echoed down from the snowy stone fort, and Frederick felt his heart sink. The Feroxi border guard was mobilizing, and the armed Shepherds that had ventured to the gate were now at the mercy of the general and her lancers. How this warrior could mistake the noble Lord Chrom for a lowly brigand both mystified and angered Frederick.

"Milord, this does not look favorable," the knight murmured to his prince.

The blue-haired lord thumbed his weapon handle nervously as the general suggested settling the situation "the Feroxi way".

"Emmeryn's not going to be happy about this…" he muttered as the knights along the wall lifted their spears.

"_ATTACK_!" The call rang out, followed by a flurry of projectiles.

Frederick tasted adrenaline as he watched the spears hurtle down from the fort wall. He immediately kicked his mount into a charge, but somehow Sumia got there first, dropping down out of the blue to sweep the prince off the ground.

Frederick's relief lasted only seconds as he deftly maneuvered his horse through the barrage. A startled cry sounded from between his steel-clad arms as his unarmored passenger was jolted by the movement. The knight hurriedly yanked the reigns and turned them around just in time to intercept another javelin – square in the back.

He grunted at the impact, but the spear clattered to the ground, failing to cause him harm. Robin looked up at him in alarm as he steered his horse back towards the group and ushered them defensively away from the gate.

"Alright Robin, what do we do?" Chrom's voice reappeared nearby as the Shepherds regrouped. Sumia's unruly Pegasus tossed its head as it cantered down to a landing.

The tactician surveyed the area, her sharp eyes picking out enemy movement. After a moment of deliberation, she formulated her plan.

"We need to pair up, there are a lot of different enemies here, and we can't afford to lose anyone – so watch your partner's back." Robin paused, looking over the small group. "Chrom and Sumia, you two should stick together…" she began slowly, "um… Sully and Virion pair up… and Vaike and Miriel… Stahl, you take Lissa – and if she's in danger, ride as far away as you can."

The green cavalier nodded seriously, reaching down to help Lissa up onto his horse. Virion followed suit, clambering onto Sully's steed despite her foul-mouthed protest. Vaike puffed out his chest and herded the mage behind him.

Frederick gripped his reigns anxiously, naturally displeased that the safety of the royal siblings was being entrusted to anyone besides himself. But Stahl and Sumia each shot him a knowing look, promising without words to take their position seriously. They were both loyal Shepherds; Chrom and Lissa would be safe.

"What about you, Robin?" Chrom finally asked from the back of Sumia's mount. He glanced worriedly at the advancing soldiers.

"Well, I'll be with Frederick, for now," she gestured to her patched-up foot, "And we're going to try and take out those archers on the left flank – if you can handle it," she added, looking up at him.

Frederick glared at the distant archers in question, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Child's play.

"Of course." He answered her sternly.

Lissa peered around Stahl's shoulder, face etched in concern, "Robin, are you sure you'll be okay with no backup?"

"She will be fine with me, Milady," Frederick waved off the princess's worry. Did she really have so little faith?

"AND I still have my magic," Robin reminded them all pointedly, brandishing a lightning tome, "I'll make quick work of them, and we'll meet back up inside the fort."

Her tone left nothing more to be discussed, and after a few hurried instructions on how to handle the right flank of soldiers, Robin sent the rest of the Shepherds on their way.

"Ready?" she finally asked him, straightening herself in the saddle.

"As always," he quipped, spurring his mare along the wall.

The archers didn't know what hit them.

Arrows plinked off of Frederick's armor as he picked off their adversaries one by one. He kept his eyes peeled on their surroundings, curving protectively around his passenger for fear that a stray arrow may find her. Robin, meanwhile, was having a personal bubble crisis; trying in vain to open her tome and garner a clear shot from horseback without dropping it.

"Please take – _care_ – not to fall off my – *_**grunt**_* - _horse_!" Frederick snapped at her between strikes as he skewered another enemy. He took the opportunity to haul her firmly back into her spot in the saddle.

"Hey, I can help, you know!" she huffed indignantly.

"I do not - *_**stab**_* - require your _help_!"

Robin shoved her tome back into the folds of her cloak and glowered at her metal cage.

"There, that should be the last of them…" Frederick panted. He scanned the area and calmed his horse with a gentle pat.

"We still need to find a way through that gate," Robin reminded him sulkily.

"Hmm, perhaps one of the soldiers was carrying a key…" the knight straightened up in contemplation, gaze roaming the immediate area.

The tactician shrugged, "You can check…" she didn't sound convinced.

Frederick slid off his horse and began his search – with no such luck. Frustrated, he returned to his mount, finding Robin shivering from wind-chill in the empty seat.

"H-how are we going t-to get inside?" she chattered as Frederick led the horse towards the fort wall.

"You're the tactician, are you not?" he responded dryly.

"_Tactician_, n-not _Magician_."

The knight was about to offer his own biting reply when a new voice suddenly spoke up.

"Um… excuse me… Sir Frederick…"

"Who goes there?!" Frederick whirled around, lance at the ready.

Kellam flinched and nearly tripped trying to backpedal.

"I'm sorry! Sir Frederick! I thought you had seen me…"

Frederick frowned, relaxing his guard. Kellam's ability to go unnoticed in such bulky armor had always unnerved him – but at least he was an ally.

"How long have you been following us?" Frederick questioned the armored enigma.

"Oh, well I was here the whole time… did you not notice?" The large knight hefted his lance, "I even finished off a couple of those archers…"

Frederick cleared his throat. "Thank you, then. Did you perhaps find any keys in doing so? The gate is still locked."

Kellam shuffled his steel boots in the snow. "No… but I may be able to help."

Robin tilted her head curiously. "How s-so?"

"I know a little about picking locks…" he shrugged, "I could give it a try…"

"By all means," Frederick gestured impatiently.

"Right…"

The large knight lumbered up to the gate, with Frederick pulling his horse in his wake. After a few minutes of quiet concentration, Kellam managed to crack the door open with a resounding *click*, and he hastily stuffed his homemade lockpick back up his sleeve.

"Wow, Kellam, th-that's amazing!" Robin cheered from her seat at the boy blushed.

"It's nothing… I've just always had a knack for it I guess…"

Kellam pushed the gate open farther, venturing cautiously inside. Frederick gripped his lance and followed, peering around once Robin and his mare were through the door.

Spotting the forms of more enemy soldiers not far off, Frederick pulled the horse around and prepared to vault back into the saddle – when suddenly Robin's eyes grew wide.

"Frederick – _look_ _out_!" she cried, gaze fixed on a spot over his shoulder. An axe struck his shoulder guard as he turned around to face the threat, the ringing clash echoing off the walls. His mare reared up at the commotion without her master to handle the reigns, and with a startled shout, Robin tumbled heavily to the ground.

_Foolish girl! _ He raged in frustration, defending her crumpled form from the axe-wielder that apparently decided she was a better target. That first hit would have been harmless had he taken it in the back! This adversary was no veteran, his swings lacked the strength to so much as dent his armor. But Robin's ill-founded terror had cost them time.

Other enemies were now closing in as Frederick dealt a final blow to the axe-fighter. Kellam was doing his best to hold off the other side, but his weight and inexperience slowed him down. Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick saw Robin clawing her way out of the snow bank she had been dumped into – fumbling for her tome with violently shaking hands.

Frederick immediately set to work dispatching the soldiers. It had been a while since he had fought on foot, but he was still leagues above these novice fighters. As much as he wished he could return to his saddle, he couldn't risk letting one of them slip by.

"Th-thunder!" a weak voice called from behind him, followed by an arc of lightning that struck down one of the swordfighters. Frederick immediately seized the window to stab at the other, finishing him off. Another mage-call from Robin was directed towards Kellam's adversary, but it missed – and the young knight was beginning to stumble from his injuries.

"Not while I draw breath!" Frederick cursed in an undertone as he watched Kellam struggle to hold off another powerful blow. One more strike, and the boy would fall.

Scooping up Robin, the great knight wrangled his horse and hoisted them both onto its back in one fluid movement. He deftly gripped both his passenger and the reigns in one hand, rearing his horse and twirling his lance into a tight grip as he aimed his sights at the enemy soldier.

This Feroxi _worm_ thought he could take the lives of those under the protection of Ylisse's Captain of the Guard - he would send him to the divines.

"**_Pick a god and pray_!**" Frederick roared as his mount charged forward.

The swordsman met a sudden, painful death at the end of his lance.

"Sir… Frederick…" Kellam wheezed, clutching at his battered side, "Thankyou… Sir."

"Keep breathing," Frederick instructed seriously, "I will fetch Lady Lissa."

Kellam screwed his eyes shut and nodded.

Across the field, the conflict was drawing to a close. Robin's plan had worked, and the rest of the Shepherds had cornered the obstinate guard captain, whittling away at her health as they dodged and blocked her attacks. With victory all but assured, Frederick quickly explained the situation to Lissa, leading her and Stahl back towards the injured knight.

As the princess tended to her new patient, Frederick realized with a start that he still had a very unresponsive tactician clutched in a one-armed death grip across the front of his saddle. Carefully rearranging his hold, he turned her around and attempted to look the shivering girl over for injuries.

Robin's eyes were squeezed shut against the assailing wind, but the rest of her body had become disturbingly still. Frederick felt his stomach drop as he took stock of her blue lips and brittle fingers. He shook her gently, and she didn't even flinch when her sheet-white cheek grazed the sub-zero surface of his armor plates. She didn't respond at all.

Lady Lissa was going to _kill_ him.

And Lord Chrom would spit on his grave.

"Robin? Robin!" He hissed in a panic, glad that no one was currently around to see his lack of composure. He reached for her face, only to realize that the metal of his gloves was sure to give her frostburn. His chest constricted as he fretted quietly.

Warmth. She needed warmth. Without another thought, he steered his horse towards the shelter of the wall and carefully began unbuckling his armor. Each piece clattered to the ground as he loosened the straps and wriggled out of the steel plates. Once he was left in his armored boots, he gathered up the frozen tactician once again.

_Gah_! She was cold! Frederick winced as her icy skin reached him through the layer of his clothing. Her Plegian coat wasn't helping either – it was still wet from her landing in the slushy snow. Gritting his teeth, Frederick carefully peeled the freezing fabric off of her and discarded that too.

He wrapped her in his own coat-jacket and attempted to cover her more thoroughly. Ducking her head into the warm center of his chest, he pulled her frozen hands up and exhaled against them through the fabric, feeling the heat from his lungs spill into the fibers.

...It wasn't working.

Robin shivered again and mumbled something incoherent, but her limbs were still rigid and her eyes were still shut. Cursing internally, Frederick grasped for the reigns and kicked his horse into a gallop. The wind bit at his unarmored flesh as he chased after the rest of the Shepherds.

Chrom was speaking civilly with the surrendered guard when Frederick rode up in a violent whirlwind, still shielding the tactician against his body.

"Milord!" Frederick willed his teeth not to chatter.

The prince's eyes widened, "Frederick, what's wrong?!"

"It's Robin, milord. We must get her inside…" the knight took a deep breath, "she may… need a healer," He admitted with shame in every ounce of his voice.

Despite all his efforts, he had failed his Lord and Lady. Such an easy battle, and he couldn't even manage to protect the _one _person that had been left in his care. And from the weather, no less. He was a disgrace as a guardian.

Lissa took charge then, leaving Stahl to support a recovered Kellam after glimpsing the state of her friend. Scowling at the captive Feroxi captain to lead the way, she ushered the group inside the fort walls. Someone managed to procure a bed and tub of water, which Miriel heated with a fire tome, and Frederick surrendered his charge to more capable hands.

Chrom found him outside the room, slumped tiredly against the wall. At the sight of his Lord, Frederick immediately straightened his posture and attempted an apology, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Milord, it is entirely my fault. I accept the blame for my foolishness. I am loathe to have failed you."

The prince regarded him quietly.

"Frederick, I don't blame you for anything - you saved her life."

"It never should have been endangered in the first place," Frederick explained anxiously, "had I not been so neglectful… perhaps her foot would not have been injured at all, perhaps I could have gotten her to safety sooner, perhaps if I had insisted on getting her a blanket for the march, then-"

"Frederick, stop," Chrom sighed, holding up a hand to silence him. "Robin is no stranger to death by now, but today _you_ kept her alive. That's all that matters – nobody is perfect, not even Frederick the Wary," the prince gave a small smile.

Frederick opened his mouth to protest once more, but was cut off by another question.

"Speaking of which… where is your armor?" Chrom looked him over curiously. An unarmored Frederick was a rare sight.

"I… discarded it outside," at Chrom's confused look, he elaborated, "I could not warm her properly with it on… the metal was too cold."

The prince graced him with a speechless expression before covering it with a cough.

"Ah, well then… I'll send someone to retrieve it."

"Do not trouble yourself, milord; I will go," the knight bowed and made for the exit, pausing only when Chrom called his name.

"Frederick?"

"Yes, milord?"

The blue-haired prince hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"I know you still aren't fond of Robin… but today you could have been rid of her, and instead you went to such great efforts to keep her safe," his gaze flickered to the knight's shoulders, missing their armored plates, "you were true to your word… and for that, I am proud."

Frederick grimaced at his words. His prince was too kind, too forgiving of his blunders. But he would never sully such words with disrespect. Heaving a sigh, Frederick bowed his head again before turning to leave.

"If you say so… milord."


	4. Chapter 4 - Ill Fortune

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: Many thanks for the wonderful reviews, they continue to assist and inspire me. It should be noted that I am in a constant process of revision; and I continue to correct errors and tweak small parts of each chapter when needed. If you catch any inconsistencies or errors, please do not hesitate to point them out. I am a perfectionist._

_That being said, I have planned this story to have, in total, nine chapters, along with a concluding note on the homeostasis theme. I will attempt to write and post these installments in a timely manner. In the meantime, please continue to read, comment, share, and enjoy._

_**Chapter Four – Ill Fortune**_

Frederick did not speak to Robin for three days.

During that time, the tactician recovered. Once the immediate matters with the Feroxi guard were settled, the Shepherds were given quarter by the east-khan herself; and the frostbitten Robin was tended to extensively with hot baths and healing staves. The knight watched guiltily from afar as her fingers and toes regained their function and healthy tones returned to her skin. She was quickly back to her old self, only needing the rest that Lissa prescribed to ensure her broken foot had healed. But still, Frederick did not dare approach.

What had he to say?

Somehow, this frustrating soldier was becoming more and more his responsibility. Yet even though she technically owed him her life; he couldn't shake the feeling that _he_ was the one indebted. He, who was never neglectful, never imprudent; he had allowed – nay, _caused_ – her suffering. His own prejudices had led, however inadvertently, to such failure.

Even Frederick the Wary had to admit, his dislike of this outsider was not worth such costs. Not when she continued to keep the Shepherds alive; not now that she had sincerely befriended his beloved prince and princess. Lord Chrom may wave off his apologies with misplaced forgiveness, but Frederick was determined to do better.

He would pay back his debt with her protection, and he would not fail his role as a guardian again.

It was for this reason that he managed the willpower to boldly announce his own strategy for the Shepherd's next endeavor. The company was preparing to fight as the champion team for the khan's showdown at the Ferox arena, in order to win their allied east-khan the throne and resources to offer Ylisse her country's aid. As the Shepherds readied their armor and weapons in the barracks beneath the arena, Frederick approached the tactician with his plan.

His strategy consisted of: Robin stays glued to him while he kills everything in sight.

The tactician, understandably, was not pleased by the suggestion.

"Frederick, _no_."

"I insist."

"You've been avoiding me for three days, and now you want me back on your horse? Are you daft?"

He glowered at her. "It is for your own good, not mine."

"Well, I refuse," Robin crossed her arms, her expression daring him to argue.

"And I refuse your refusal," the knight responded in kind.

"Hey, no – you can't do that!"

"Indeed I can. You forget who is Captain of Ylisse's knights, and milord's second-in-command."

"Yeah? Well I'm telling Chrom!"

"As will I."

They stood glaring at each other. Above their heads, distant roaring crowds cheered for whatever entertainment had taken the arena stage. There wasn't much time until the champion's challenge began.

"Look, Frederick. I don't have time for this. If I don't fight on my own in this battle, my skills will start falling behind. I need the practice and experience! As the Shepherd's tactician, I can't afford to be the weakest link."

Frederick sighed in frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, she did have a point.

"I suggest a bargain then," he said after a moment of deliberation, "If you remain with me during this battle, and future conflict, I will train you without qualm in our off time. You will receive all the instruction and practice you need to surpass the other Shepherds, this I vow." Robin opened her mouth to spew an indignant response, and he held up a hand, "_And_, once you are strong enough to hold your own – I will leave you be."

"I _am _strong enough to hold my own!"

"You are not."

Robin stepped back, her face a mix of outrage and distress. Her eyes blinked rapidly for a minute as she tried to regain her voice.

"You – you don't know what I'm capable of! You think you can belittle me and treat me like a child?! Just because I don't have any memories doesn't mean I'm some useless invalid!"

Frederick closed a shocked mouth while her fists clenched and her breathing seemed to struggle for normalcy. That wasn't what he had meant to imply at all.

Robin was smart, and cunning, and full of potential. And yes even possibly… loyal.

All the more reason to protect her – for his Lord. For the Shepherds.

The tactician swallowed. "I'm doing this on my own," she said scathingly, "You stay away from me."

And with that she stormed off.

Frederick stood there quietly while the crowd cheered overhead and the Shepherds filed out of the barracks, unaware of what had just transpired between the knight and tactician. He mulled over their interaction seriously. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Robin's behavior had certainly seemed… off.

Chrom came to find him, still contemplatively motionless, and drew his thoughts back down to earth with a reminder that he was needed on the battlefield. Murmuring a quiet apology, the knight quickly saddled his mare and made for the arena.

Frederick knew what he had to do.

* * *

><p>The clash of swords echoed through the cavernous stadium as Chrom lunged at his adversary. The roar of the crowd urged them on, and the rest of the Shepherds waited for Robin's signal to storm the field and engage the enemy team.<p>

Frederick watched the fight warily, but in his peripheral vision, he kept tabs on a familiar dark cloak with pale hair.

When the time came, the company charged forth; following the tactician's instructions and sweeping the right side of the arena mercilessly, defeating all enemies in their wake. Frederick followed at the back, his grip tight on the reigns as he watched Robin intently, waiting for something. The battle was going well, but then he caught the sign he was anticipating.

First, she stumbled.

Then she fell.

He was at her side in an instant.

Robin braced her arms against the ground, lungs heaving as black spots danced across her vision. She had yet to be touched by enemy blades, and yet, her body was betraying her all the same. Her head spun and her arms shook. She rallied her remaining strength, but still she could not stand.

Cursing internally, she felt hot tears well up behind her eyelids – Frederick was right, she _was_ weak.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves clattered against the floor beside her, and a large arm reached down to wrap around her middle, lifting her off the ground. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably at the movement, and she clung unsteadily to the person that had pulled her up.

"Hold on," the knight grunted as he wheeled around, crushing her to his chest. The front plates of his armor were gone, and instead, a large shield was strapped onto his forearm, cocooning her in. His dominant arm clutched a lightweight lance, which he drove into the nearest enemy without effort.

Robin moaned as her head pounded. It just_ had _to be Frederick that came to rescue her pathetic self. The knight systematically cut down foes, slowly making his way to the safe side of the arena. The jolting of the horse beneath them was making her dizzy.

"Put me down," she protested weakly into the front of his shirt. Frederick didn't respond as he spurred his horse towards Chrom. The prince was facing off against the strange masked champion with Sully at his side, and it was clear that they had the advantage. With most of the enemies dealt with by this point, the rest of the Shepherds had surrounded Chrom to offer their support, cheering him on along with the stadium's crowd while their defensive line kept the last few soldiers from interfering with the prince's fight.

"Stahl!" Frederick barked as he caught up with the group.

"Yes, Sir Frederick?"

"Please inform Lord Chrom that I am removing Robin from the arena."

A small sound of protest emitted from the head tucked under his chin.

"O-of course Sir! Did something happen?" The cavalier peered worriedly around the wide shield that covered the tactician while she battled her queasiness.

"Her health requires it."

"… Right, Sir." Stahl gave a determined nod.

Frederick turned them around and made for the exit without another word.

He did his best to calm his horse into a steady trot, but the effort was not enough offer his passenger a smooth ride. She moaned again in discomfort as the saddle bumped and swayed.

"Take me back, Frederick…" she all but wailed.

"No."

"Please? A-at least take me back to Lissa! I'm… I think I'm _dying!_" she nearly sobbed.

The knight sighed as he pulled his horse to a stop back in the barracks. Sliding off, he gathered Robin up and deposited her gently on the ground. She gave a guttural groan.

"You're not dying…" Frederick insisted tiredly, reaching out to grab a nearby bucket and thrust it under her nose.

The tactician clutched at her pained stomach, before giving up, and losing her breakfast.

"… You're sick."

Robin groaned again, ducking her head down over the offered container as her stomach heaved.

Grimacing slightly, Frederick reached down and deftly gathered her pale tresses in his free hand, holding them away from her face. He waited patiently while she finished.

"Better?" He asked quietly.

"No," she whimpered, "Gods… this f-feels awful…" She groped around blindly for her water-skin; and Frederick set the bucket down to offer it to her. "Thanks…" she mumbled, turning away to rinse out her mouth.

They sat in silence while she composed herself, screwing her eyes shut against the pounding in her skull.

"You need to lay down." The knight insisted.

This time, Robin didn't have the energy to complain as he looped his arms under her shoulders and knees and carried her to a medical cot. Once horizontal, she at least found it easier to breathe.

"How…" she cleared her scratchy throat, "How did you know?" she asked him, too embarrassed to open her eyes.

"This morning, you appeared flushed and fatigued – I suspected that you had a fever." Frederick thought back on his earlier analysis, tugging off a glove and testing her forehead with the back of his hand. She flinched slightly at the contact, but her flesh was burning. "It would seem my suspicions were correct."

The tactician sighed heavily, reaching a weak hand up to rub at her temples. "Is that why you were so obstinate earlier? About wanting me to ride with you?" At least her tone was calm; reasonable.

"…Not exactly," Frederick answered truthfully.

"Then why? I… I thought you hated me," Robin's voice shook slightly.

"I don't _hate_ you." he admitted with a frown. "You are important to Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa – so your safety is important to me." He clasped his arms behind his back professionally.

Robin gave him a tired look. "Haven't you done enough for my safety? They told me about what happened that day at the longfort… after I passed out…" her eyes flicked unwillingly to his unarmored chest. "You didn't have to go to such lengths. The last thing I want to be is a burden," her words had a hard edge to them.

"You dishonor me - the debt is mine to pay," Frederick growled, determined to get through to her. "I realize I have been… unfair to you. It has caused you to suffer and my prince to worry. I will not rest until those wrongs have been righted – it is my duty as a knight."

Robin stared at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she dropped her gaze.

"Well, if your offer still stands… I suppose I could accept it. But if I'm to be rendered useless during battles, I expect to be training at every possible moment. Because _I _will not rest until I can take down an entire army by myself." Despite her headache, she set her chin stubbornly.

"Very well," Frederick acquiesced. "But as I promised Lord Chrom, we will train within reason."

The tactician blew out a weak sigh. "Deal." She grumbled finally.

Satisfied, Frederick straightened up. "Now, If you'll excuse me, I must report to Lord Chrom. The battle should be won, by now. I will send a healer to tend to you…" he looked down at her small form on the cot before glancing around the immediate area. Spotting a simple cloth blanket on a nearby shelf, he reached out and draped it over her. "Do you prefer Ginger or Chamomile tea?" He asked.

"I… I don't remember," Robin admitted, huddling under the blanket.

"Then I will brew some of each."

He turned towards the doorway, reaching out to give his patient mare a pat as he passed.

"Um… Frederick?" Robin said softly.

"Yes?" He paused to glance over his shoulder.

"Thank you." She said simply.

Frederick peered at her, but she had already laid back and shut her eyes again. She didn't expect a response to her gratitude.

And so he left her.

It wasn't long before he found the rest of the Shepherds' celebrating their victory. The two khans proved to be in amiable spirits as well, satisfied with such an entertaining contest for the throne. The mysterious masked swordsman had disappeared, and Chrom and Lissa had been ferried off the field by a triumphant Flavia and her boisterous rival.

"Ah, Frederick!" Chrom exclaimed as the knight caught up to them. "Good news – we have our alliance!"

"And a new Shepherd," Lissa piped up, pointing to a sullen-looking myrmidon.

Frederick nodded, "Milord, you fought well today."

"Thank you." The prince replied offhandedly. "Now tell me; what happened with Robin? Is she injured?" his forehead crumpled with concern.

Frederick shook his head. "Only a fever, milord. A simple healer's draught should cure her ailment."

Chrom sighed. "Well, it's good to hear that it wasn't serious this time."

"Poor girl just can't catch a break, can she?" Lissa grimaced sympathetically. "At least she didn't get herself hurt trying to fight."

"Not to worry, milady. I had it under control." Frederick reported.

"Of course you did, Frederick." The princess rolled her eyes with a smile.

"In any case, I suppose we should find her a healer," Chrom mused, "Is she back in the barracks?"

"Yes milord. I ensured her safety and comfort before seeking you out."

"Ohhh- I better go keep her company," Lissa fretted over her friend. She grabbed her staff and hurried off in the direction Frederick had come.

The knight stared after the princess, for once not anxiously inclined to follow on her heels. Meanwhile, the prince stared at Frederick, silently wondering if Robin was again the reason that the cautious knight had done away with the thick chest-plate he so cherished.

"You know," Chrom said to him after a moment, "I was beginning to worry that you and Robin weren't getting along."

Frederick raised his chin noncommittally. "I have no prejudice either way, milord. She is a Shepherd, and I will protect her as promised."

"Mm-hmm." The prince fixed him with a vaguely amused look. "So would you say that you trust her by now?"

Frederick flicked his gaze to the blue-haired youth, considering the question.

"… To an extent, milord."


	5. Chapter 5 - Scare Tactics

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: The longest chapter thus far; I struggled a bit with attempting to render character reactions realistically - it does venture slightly into OOC zone (for good reason), but please let me know what you think. As usual, critiques and reviews are always welcome!_

_**Chapter Five – Scare Tactics**_

Robin regained her health, and Frederick kept his word; surrendering much of his daily free time to her instruction.

It wasn't as bad as he imagined it would be; although, in his opinion, such time _could_ be better spent doting on his royal charges. Nonetheless, Frederick was surprised to find that the tactician was quite the eager student when she was well rested and in good health.

He observed her warily throughout their training sessions, determined not to repeat his past mistakes and let her run herself ragged. Robin still had not mastered her sense of limitation, and thus a single stumble or bout of panting sent the knight into a worried frenzy: fetching water and vulneraries while firmly sitting her down to rest. Despite Robin's frustration with the interruptions, the knight insisted that such measures be taken – he'd be _damned_ if he let her pass out again.

Her progression showed, however: her sword swings and magical flourishes became faster, more fluid, and her footwork improved until she was nimbly dodging a majority of hits, instead of taking them full force. As the Shepherds marched south to accompany Exalt Emmeryn to a Plegian parley, Robin worked tirelessly to better her skills. And Frederick had to admit, the daily sessions with her did help to distract him from losing his hair with worry over the Exalt's safety.

"That's enough for today," he announced one evening on the southern plains. The Shepherds were set to accompany the border confrontation on the marrow – and Frederick wanted to ensure that everyone, tactician included, would be well rested.

Robin was looking winded, but still she graced him with a hurt look, ready to protest the early halt to their training.

"Your form has improved considerably," He cut her off before she could demand to keep going, distracting her with the subtle compliment. "The pace of your progress is remarkable."

Frederick didn't think much of the words. They were true, after all. But he wasn't quite prepared for the breathless smile that graced Robin's face.

He blinked while she beamed at him. It was the first genuine smile he had ever received from her.

"Th-thanks," she managed, her exhaustion finally catching up to her.

The knight was still staring intently at that smile.

"I feel like… I've got the basics down… by now," she continued, catching her breath as the wide grin faded.

After a pause, Frederick cleared his throat, "I would certainly say so."

Robin glanced up at him, a sly look in her eye. "But I'm s-so… tired… I think I'm dying…" she brought a hand to her forehead dramatically.

"Ha!" the knight snorted, not sold on the performance, "You're exaggerating!"

'_Or at least I pray so…'_ he thought to himself as he scrutinized her grimly.

Robin waved off the new intensity to his gaze as she straightened up. "Oh relax, of course I am!"

Another smile from her, more gentle this time.

"Honestly Frederick, you baby me too much…" she sighed lightly, shaking her head.

"A knight does not _baby_ his trainees," he scoffed, nonetheless reaching for a water-skin to offer her.

"Uh-huh, sure…" she looked unconvinced as she took a swig.

The knight huffed. "We've been over this, Robin. It is my duty to make sure you do not overextend yourself. If you were to-"

"Yes, yes, I know," she grumbled impatiently.

"Then do not complain…" he responded absently, turning her around to check her again for injuries.

Robin sighed. "I just don't like being treated like a child," she muttered under her breath.

Frederick paused his assessment, tilting his head down to get a better look at her expression.

She turned away petulantly. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Well," Frederick cleared his throat, "I _had_ intended to begin teaching you how to attack from horseback…" her eyes lit up with interest at his words, "but if you are truly upset with my treatment of you…"

"No! No it's fine, I'd love to learn!" She answered hastily. "You can baby me all you want."

Frederick hid an uncharacteristic smirk.

"Then we shall start tomorrow," he said sternly, "provided that you get enough sleep."

The tactician readily agreed, and scurried off to her tent without further protest.

* * *

><p>As expected, Robin continued to improve drastically.<p>

When the parley inevitably went sour, Frederick took the opportunity to keep his promise to his passenger – allowing her (against his better judgment) to lean out precariously and hurl lightning at their foes. He picked such moments carefully, isolating specific soldiers for her to target without risk of retaliation. And for all his efforts, Robin sustained not but a single scratch. But still… he worried.

The weeks that followed were turbulent. After war had been declared officially, the Exalt and Shepherds fled back to Ylisstol to regroup and prepare. And there, in the capitol, Ylisse's state was further jeopardized by an assassination attempt and the reappearance of the mysterious swordsman – or rather, swords_woman, _as it came to be revealed.

Throughout this time, Frederick was at his wit's end with stress. He grew tight-lipped with Robin, and seldom found time for their training sessions. Between his primary concern of the Exalt's safety and comfort, the burden of commanding the Ylissian knights, and of course his responsibility to Chrom and Lissa – he was beginning to spread himself thin. Robin herself was absorbed in planning for the war with the prince and Exalt, but she still managed to watch Frederick with quiet concern.

When it had been decided – at Frederick's suggestion – to escort Emmeryn to a safer palace in the mountains while they awaited the arrival of the Feroxi troops, Robin was sure that the knight would shirk his normal supervision of her in order to expend his remaining effort on his royal trio of charges. But as the Shepherds set out on their march through the mountain pass, he was at her side.

"Robin, come," he said offhandedly, reaching down to help her onto his horse in a movement that had become almost second-nature.

She blinked in surprise, but accepted his hand without a word – vaulting into her familiar place in the saddle. Frederick, as usual, was busy watching the prince and princess.

"I'm feeling well today," Robin reported to him, knowing that he would ask.

The knight nodded, glancing down at her before returning his attention to his charges. He spurred his horse into a trot, passing the line of wagons and marching Shepherds to reach the Exalt at the front. He observed Emmeryn for a moment, deciding that she was in no immediate need of his aid, before moving on to scout the trail ahead.

"Well enough to march on my own, actually," the tactician prodded, "I don't really need a ride…"

"Hm." Frederick only hummed distractedly at her words. His eyes combed the mountainside, searching for any sign of danger.

Robin sighed. "Never mind," she muttered.

The horse plodded along at a steady pace, a rhythm that Robin was quite familiar with by now. She pulled up her hood and leaned back against the knight, secretly thankful that on days when he wore his chest-plate, he also packed a small cushion. It was just like him to think of such small details. She reached between them and adjusted it, happy to spare her back from the bulky steel ridges.

Frederick didn't think much of her actions, content that she was pacified enough not to bother him while scouting. The tactician folded her arms and watched the clouds, with his wrists looped unobtrusively around her hips to keep her in place.

The mountains of Ylisse were stunningly beautiful. The crisp air made even the distant peaks appear sharp and clear, and fertile grass and wildflowers were painted along the landscape. The clouds drifted lazily along overhead, peppered with the shadows of distant birds-

Robin sat up suddenly, peering at the sky.

…_Those weren't birds._

"Frederick?" her voice inched up in alarm.

His attention locked onto her, immediately picking out what she was staring at. Tiny pairs of batlike wings stood out against the sky as they grew bigger, revealing tiny riders and tiny clawed feet. And sure enough, on the hilly rise beneath the formation, a group of Plegian soldiers were heading their way.

"Gods above, how did they manage to cut us off?!" Frederick hissed, rearing his horse. Immediately he turned them around and was galloping at full speed back to the convoy.

"Sir Frederick?" Phila called down from her mount as the pair made it back, "What news?"

"A Plegian ambush!" He announced to the halted company, "Headed this way just over the rise!"

"Blast!" Chrom cursed, "We were fools to have trusted that Heirarch who claimed the way was clear…"

"Well he's long gone now," Emmeryn spoke up, astoundingly calm, "we will need to fend off these troops."

"What should we do?" Lissa wrung her hands, "We can't let them get to you, sis!"

"I concur," Frederick said, "Your grace, keeping you out of harm's way is of the utmost importance. Perhaps Sergeant Phila might bear you back towards Ylisstol?"

The falcon knight nodded. "An excellent plan."

"Hold, Frederick," the Exalt held up a hand, "I'll not leave my brother and sister to face an enemy ambush in my stead."

"We can handle it, Emm," Chrom insisted.

"Actually…" Robin spoke up thoughtfully, securing the attention of the group, "there may be a way to turn this ambush on its head."

Her statement was met with questioning looks.

"What did you have in mind, Robin?" The prince asked.

"Well…" Robin slid off the horse and hurried over to get a good look at the mountainside. The Shepherds were currently on a high plane that dropped off into a gorge on one side, while the other was bordered by the craggy mountain face. Narrowing her gaze at the rock wall ahead of them, she found what she was looking for.

"See those caves?" the tactician pointed at the splotches of shadowed intents nearly camouflaged by the craggy stone. "What if we hid in them, readied with ranged attacks to take out the enemies as they approached? I don't think they've seen us yet, so this could work." She scoured the surrounding area, mentally mapping out the distance and angles before continuing, "We could send out a fake "scout", to lure the enemy here, then _bam_! We ambush the ambush."

Chrom rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "You know… that's not a bad idea."

"I'd say it's worth a shot," Lissa grinned.

The Exalt appraised Robin calmly. "I have heard much about your strategic talents… if you believe this will work, then we haven't time to waste."

"O-of course, your grace…" Robin bowed slightly. "Alright, everyone come with me," she headed for the caves, calling over her shoulder. "and hurry!"

* * *

><p>The Shepherds crouched silently at their posts.<p>

Robin had worked quickly, arranging everyone's positions just so. The Shepherds were divided amongst four caves, and each group had a member outfitted with a wind tome or bow to make quick work of the wyvern knights. As Robin had explained, ranged attacks were to be used first, to help conceal their position; and then the up-close-and-personal combatants would storm forth to finish the job.

If her plan worked, the enemy would be whipped into fearful confusion by the unpredictable assault, and victory would be swift.

Sumia was already on her way, having volunteered to play bait. She would be leading the Plegians back any minute now, and then the action would start. They were ready.

But now that Robin herself was in the cave, looking out past the low overhang, something felt… wrong.

She glanced around at the narrow walls and her three companions. Chrom and Lissa were watching the entrance intently, the latter hidden behind a rock. Frederick had managed to coerce his mare quietly into the cave, and at his order, she stayed impatiently pawing the ground behind them. Right now he stood beside Robin, stretching his legs and hefting a shorter lance than his usual one. This would be a battle better fought on foot.

Robin couldn't stop herself from fidgeting. Shouldn't Sumia be back by now? No, no – it was too soon. Why couldn't time move faster? She began going over the plan anxiously in her head, listing the names of her fellow Shepherds that were grouped in the caves around them.

_Ricken, Maribelle, Panne, Stahl,_

_Miriel, Vaike, Lon-qu, and soon Sumia,_

_Virion, Sully, Kellam, Gaius,_

_Frederick, Lissa, Chrom, R-_

"Robin?"

The tactician flinched at the sound of her own name. Lissa was watching her worriedly.

"Is something wrong?" the princess whispered.

"No… it's nothing." The answer was not convincing.

Chrom looked over at her with a smile. "You're not scared are you?"

"Of course not," Robin scoffed. "Just… on edge."

"I don't know how you do it," Lissa sighed, "It's like you're never afraid, Robin, even when you've got bandits hacking at your heels…" the cleric shook her head, "I'd be a terrified mess if I fought battles like you do."

The tactician shrugged, "I guess it's just one of those things. I imagine most people are afraid of fighting because they grow up learning the consequences. But since I can't remember those years of conditioning… what's there to be afraid of?"

"Well, dying, for one," Lissa pointed out dryly.

The tactician managed a smile.

"And what about the pain of getting skewered by blades and spells?" the princess continued, "I thought that first battle would've straightened you right out."

"I mean, it doesn't hurt that bad. Taking hits, that is."

Frederick wanted to step in, and remind her that she shouldn't be putting herself in the way of such hits – but he held his tongue.

"Yeesh, speak for yourself," Lissa grimaced, "that's some pain tolerance you've got."

"Hey, who knows; maybe something in my childhood got me used to pain, burned out my sensitivity."

Frederick blanched at her words. The idea struck a strange, disturbing chord in his thoughts; as if he suspected what could have caused that tolerance. Stamping out sensitivity to pain in a child? It almost sounded like…

It almost sounded… like torture.

The knight shook his head quickly, dispelling such thoughts. Robin was safe, Robin was here, Robin would never… be hurt like that.

Not while she was with him.

"Hey, guys," Chrom suddenly whispered from his spot by the entrance, "Get ready – I think that's Sumia up ahead…"

The knight, cleric, and tactician quickly sobered. Robin lifted an Elwind tome, the magic feeling slightly foreign in her hands, compared to her normal thunder. She positioned herself by the entrance and readied her casting hand.

The silent waiting was maddening… and each second, the rock walls felt like they were inching closer to her, closing her in…

Robin clenched her hands, willing herself to get a grip. Just her luck that she should be one of the tome-wielders in her own plan… what she would give to get out of this _blasted_ cave!

"Here they come," Chrom murmured, pointing towards the visible path. The group of Plegian troops had just begun to pour over the rise - all of them on foot.

"Where are the wyvern riders?" Lissa whispered, scouring what she could see of the skies.

"Hmmm… they're smart," Robin narrowed her gaze, "the dragon cavalry must be waiting to make their move; sending in the foot soldiers to do some damage before they show themselves… but it won't work," she added with a wicked grin, tapping her tome.

"Let's focus on these enemies, first," Chrom said lowly, withdrawing further into the shadows as the Plegians made their way towards the caves, "they should be easy enough."

The enemies drew closer, unaware of the trap that lay in wait. Soon, they were close enough that Robin could just make out their voices ("Looks like thos' Ylissian pigs started a retreat! Pick up th' pace, boys!") but she was waiting for just the right moment. Hidden in the dark, hand raised; Robin knew that the others were poised – waiting for her signal.

The unsuspecting Plegians passed the caves. She watched her prey.

Closer…

Closer…

…_now._

"Elwind!" she hissed, flicking the bolt of wind magic with as much momentum as she could muster. The razor whirlwind blindsided her chosen target, ripping his life from him in an instant.

A few startled shouts sounded from the vicinity, but the soldiers barely had time to react before a volley of arrows, javelins, hatchets, and wind magic showered down on them. Some of the Plegians fell dead or injured, while the rest worked themselves into a frenzied panic.

_Now for phase two…_ Robin thought, lifting her tome again. She glanced at Chrom and Frederick. '_On my mark'_ she mouthed silently.

Raising her hand, she sent another bolt of wind magic hurtling down on her foes. But this time, a pair of vengeful Shepherds were on its tail.

"YOUR END HAS _COME."_ Chrom bellowed as he cut down the first soldier in his path.

Robin almost regretted telling the prince that battle-cries were allowed.

Not a moment later, the rest of the Shepherds had come pouring out of their caves; falling upon the remaining soldiers with terrorizing force and no small amount of shouting. Robin grinned victoriously as she tossed more spells, helping to finish off the last few enemies.

But it wasn't over yet.

After the last soldier was eliminated, the Shepherds on the field turned their anxious gazes to the skies. This would work, Robin called to them reassuringly: when the wyvern reinforcements flew in, they would engage the allies in plain sight, not knowing that the archer and mages were still hidden in the caves.

That's exactly what they did.

The first of the dragon mounts let out a screech as it hurtled around the cliff-face to find the field of slain Plegians; and Frederick leapt forward to face its axe-wielding rider. An arrow found the soldier while they fought, and the other wyvern knights soon followed suit, closing in around the Shepherds only to be ambushed by wind spells and arrows.

"That's my cue!" Lissa leapt up, hurrying out of the cave to tend to a pale-looking Lon'qu that had just taken the brunt of the dragon-riders' offence. The last of the Plegians was caught up in a fight with Panne; and the taguel was running circles around her opponent (literally).

Robin finally allowed herself a sigh of relief. The plan had worked.

"Robin, are you uninjured?" a familiar voice called up to her.

Frederick was hiking back up to the cave, and at his whistle, his mare came cantering happily out of the dark.

"I'm fine," she answered, heading for the exit. The tight feeling in her chest began to evaporate as she stepped out from under the overhang to meet him.

But then she saw it.

One of the Plegian knights that must have been hiding along the cliff-face was suddenly hurtling in her direction with an enraged shout, spurring his mount into a steep dive. He was out of reach of the other Shepherds – but he could get to her.

He could finish her off easily. And he knew it.

Robin backpedaled, flipped her tome open and flung her hand out without a second thought.

"ELWIND!"

The wyvern roared in pain as it was struck, careening into the mountainside above them. The sound of the impact was grating and painful, and Robin didn't immediately realize her mistake.

She barely had time to register the falling rocks before she was tackled out of the way.

Frederick gasped as his back hit the ground hard, but he quickly rolled to cover the person in his arms from the flying debris. The rockslide only lasted a few seconds, but the sound of the tumbling stone continued to ring in his ears as he gripped the tactician beneath him.

The entrance to the cave had collapsed.

Robin coughed as dust invaded her lungs. Everything had gone dark, and her brain was a mess of confusion.

"Frederick?!" she wheezed, struggling to sit up.

"I… am here…" he panted quietly.

"What… why is it dark?"

He didn't answer; and it didn't take her long to pull her thoughts back together.

"Oh gods… we're- we're trapped…" her voice shook.

"Peace, Robin, everything is fine…" the knight responded calmly, letting her go. He pushed himself up and began to grope around for the saddlebags he knew he had discarded nearby.

The tactician, meanwhile, felt her breath hitch and her head grow dizzy. Splaying her hands on the pebble-littered ground, she shuffled forward until she met the wall of the cave.

"No… no, no, no…" she began to feel along the rock.

Frederick found the saddlebags, fishing around inside for the torch and flint he always carried. He struck and lit it with practiced skill.

Robin flinched violently as the flickering light sprang to life. The cave was illuminated in the orange glow, revealing the pile of rocks where the overhang used to be.

"No, no, _no, __**no, NO, NO NO!"**_ Robin cried with increasing volume.

"Robin, _calm down_," Frederick frowned, straightening up and heading to the pile. He began tapping along the top, trying to discern how thick the layer of rock was. Judging from the size and position of the overhang that used to be there, it couldn't be too terribly hard to tunnel out.

Frederick sighed in annoyance and began wiggling rocks out of the top of the pile, sending them clattering down the side. He could already hear muted voices and scraping on the other side – it wouldn't be long before the rest of the Shepherds managed to dig them out. The knight and his charge were in no real danger.

But Robin didn't know that.

"WE'RE… GOING… TO… _DIE,"_ she gasped out as her vision swam.

Frederick stared down at her, appalled by the tactician's lack of composure. Robin was normally so focused when the situation demanded it, keeping her cool with a sharp look in her eye.

But the face she wore now was… _deranged_.

"_**Get me OUT OF HERE!**_" she shrieked hysterically, falling to her knees in front of the rocks. She immediately plunged her hands into the pile, clawing at the rough stones and tossing them haphazardly aside. Her breath came out in short, gasping sobs while she dug; not stopping even when more rocks tumbled down to crush her fingers.

"_Robin, _STOP," Frederick reached for her in alarm, trying to pull her arms away from the pile. She wrestled out of his hands with a strangled cry.

"_**NO!**_" She shrieked, "I _can't __**die in here**__!"_

"We're not going to _die."_ Frederick snapped at her. "Look around, Robin – we are _fine_. Lord Chrom is digging us out as we speak."

But the tactician only shook her head violently and continued to tug desperately at the rocks. Her fingers were coated in blood.

Frederick clenched his fists. It was time for a more forceful approach.

Steeling his brow with determination, he clamped his hands down on her shoulders and began to drag her towards the back of the cave. Her cries increased in volume while she thrashed against his hold – although he was trying his best to be gentle. She began to deliriously ramble between gasps.

"_**Buried**… _I need to- _ get me out just get me out please…_ gods… Naga please… **_please_**… the walls are **_getting_ _closer_**…!" She collapsed into another fit of sobs, her eyes too wild with panic to conjure tears.

Frederick was at a loss. What could he do?! He was growing more and more fearful of her state of mind. He kept his grip firm while she twisted and flailed. Her body was shaking like a thing possessed; he needed to stop her from hyperventilating.

But _how?_

Following his instincts, he sat down heavily against the cave wall, and pulled her closer.

"Shhh…" he hushed her, using his knees to corral her in. He carefully moved one hand to the small of her back, pressing lightly as her thrashing began to wear out. Her chest still heaved, and her eyes were squeezed shut, but her physical turbulence became containable.

Her forehead knocked against his chest plate, and he cursed internally. Freeing a cautious hand, he reached up and quickly undid the buckles. Robin had her palms braced against the ground while he shrugged it off – curling her bloodied fingers into the dirt. The knight worked quickly, also disposing of his thick gloves.

There. Now he had a safer surface to prop her against.

Reaching back around the tactician's small shoulders, he applied more pressure to guide her towards his chest. His other hand settled on the back of her head.

"It's… going to be okay," he rumbled softly, "…I am here."

The knight frowned above her head, wondering if this was the right thing to say. It _felt_ right…

His thoughts were stalled in shock as a pair of shaking hands hooked around his back, and twisted into the fabric of his shirt. A small face buried itself into the base of his neck. A small body fitted itself snugly against his torso.

Robin clutched at him desperately, finally managing to calm her thoughts enough to speak.

"…I'm… scared…" she whispered brokenly.

Frederick felt a pang of irrational heartbreak at her breathless words. The tactician sounded… _fragile_. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bring her comfort. He wanted it fiercely.

His hands seemed to move on their own, rubbing slow circles on her back, and sifting gently through her hair. "Shhh… Do not be afraid..." he murmured, "no harm will befall you…"

Robin succumbed to another round of sobs, her hold on him shockingly tight. But her breathing was gradually slowing to an appropriate level, and her shoulders were shaking less noticeably.

Frederick searched for other things to say.

"There is no need to be scared… I will guard you… I will get you out… everything will be okay…"

He wracked his brain for something else. Robin exhaled unsteadily into the front of his shirt.

"You are strong, Robin."

The tactician gave another shaky breath and managed to glance up at him. Screwing her eyes shut again, she slumped back into the safety of his shirt.

"… I am a c-coward," she whimpered.

"Not so," the knight insisted, returning to the motions of rubbing her back and petting her hair. "A brave soldier faces their fears; just as you are facing yours."

Robin shook her head against him.

"… I am no brave s-soldier…" she sobbed, "… to be so terrified by stone walls… I can't … I d-don't have your strength…"

Frederick sighed. "This knight is not without his own demons, Robin. Fear can be overcome."

The tactician swallowed.

"Tell me…?" Came her soft request.

Frederick shifted, using a hand to tilt her chin up so that he might see her face. Distress still glimmered in her eyes. His were thoughtful.

"I will show you," he said finally.

He reached back and gently pried her hands from his shirt, gathering her wrists and replacing them in her lap. When she didn't immediately break down, he slowly proceeded.

The torch still flickered dimly where it lay on the floor, illuminating the knight's long arms as he stripped them of their remaining armor. Robin remained seated between his knees, watching warily. Once finished, he methodically unfastened his jacket, folding it before setting it aside.

Frederick hesitated, locking eyes with Robin's confused, anxious stare. Taking a deep breath, he undid the buttons of his shirt, tugging it off in one fluid movement.

Robin gasped.

Painted across the muscles of his torso were splashes of puckered scar tissue. She had expected the knight to have at least a few marks from battle wounds, but these were… different. They looked older – more painful.

Frowning, she reached out gingerly to trace a curved path on his shoulder. The shape of the disfigured flesh suddenly clicked.

Those were _teeth marks_.

"What… happened…?" her horror-stricken voice was barely audible.

Frederick watched her with a veiled expression, feeling the tough flesh of his scars fold and stretch as he shifted his weight and rested his forearms on his knees.

"When I was a boy," he began quietly, "I lived in a small village, high in the southern mountains. I had always been terrified of the giant wolves that roamed that region, and one day, one of the starving beasts was desperate enough to venture closer to town…"

His eyes were unfocused as he recalled the memory. The nightmare of his youth.

"It dragged me off. By the time my parents and the other townspeople got to me, the damage had been done – not even the healers' best staves could repair it completely."

Robin sat listening in shock, her gaze sweeping over the mutilated flesh in front of her. Frederick had the strength of ten men – but across his broad muscles and tall stature, he bore the scars of ten men as well.

The knight took a quiet breath before concluding his tale. "I have known the pain of being mauled within an inch of my life. But to this day, I will face that fear. I may not have a taste for bear meat; but I will hunt those brutish carnivores_ all day long_."

Robin stared at him silently. Frederick was brave; he was unyielding. She wondered if she would ever find such strength.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered, for there was nothing else to say.

* * *

><p>As Frederick predicted, it wasn't long before the Shepherds were pushing through the rocks from the outside; calling in through the cracks to verify that they both were unharmed.<p>

Robin calmed considerably as the sunlight leaked through and the passage began to open up. But while they waited, her guardian allowed her to stay in his embrace – drawing comfort from him like a teddy-bear.

Or rather… a Freddy-Bear. The tactician mustered a tiny laugh at the thought.

Frederick, meanwhile, had bound her cut fingers with strips of his jacket (he figured it was already ruined by her smeared blood, anyway) and pulled his shirt back on. Her cheeks burned briefly as she realized that his position, in his previous unclothed state, was terribly indecent; but the knight did not notice. He folded her back into his chest once the buttons were refastened; offering the same comfort as before while she waited out the end of her torment.

It was his duty. As a knight. He had to be sure the tactician was safe and comforted. She had to be cared for, in her time of fear. Right?

Frederick's arms tightened around her infinitesimally. He found himself thinking about his role as her protector… He also found himself thinking that the shoulders he held were tiny and delicate compared to his… and that the pale hair under his fingers was incredibly soft.

But he quickly chased such thoughts from his head.

When a sizable hole had opened up, he ushered Robin over and gave her a boost as she took Chrom's hand and clambered out of the rocky debris. Frederick strapped back into his armor, hoisting his saddlebags as he followed her out.

The sight of her relieved face etched itself into his memory. It was at the forefront of his mind while Chrom stood thanking him for once again ensuring Robin's safety.

"We were all worried," his Lord was saying, running a hand through his navy hair. "I mean, we couldn't hear much from our side of the rockslide; but at first it sounded like a lot of pained yelling in there. I'm just glad you both are okay."

"Milord, I would not allow such a paltry end to befall Robin or myself, you can rest assured."

"I have every confidence, Frederick the Wary," the prince grinned. "And I'm comforted to know that my friend has such an able protector to keep her in check."

He turned to observe the tactician from afar, prompting Frederick to follow his gaze. Robin was sitting patiently while Lissa healed the cuts on her hands.

"She's come a long way from that daredevil amnesiac we found in the field, don't you think?" Chrom wondered aloud.

Frederick nodded his assent, observing his charge quietly. He felt almost… proud. The knight cleared his throat with conviction, allowing himself a small smile.

"She has grown strong, milord."


	6. Chapter 6 - Hot Water

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem in any way, shape, or form, this I vow._

_A/N: Thank you again for all of the wonderful reviews! I love receiving them, and I hope to get around to answering any questions or particularly interesting comments._

_ I did have a few notes to pen down before this chapter: firstly, that the exact reason behind Robin's claustrophobia in the last chapter will most likely NOT be explored in the story. There will be some delving into her mysterious (tortured?) past, but as the story stands, her claustrophobia – or perhaps taphophobia – is just supposed to be one of her unique quirks. _

_HOWEVER, I will give an explanation to you, my lovely audience, that this Robin's claustro/tapho-phobia development is directly related to the popular theory that Grima was formed from the fusion of the sealed Earth dragons from Marth's time (hence the size, decrepit appearance, and many eyes and limbs). These Earth dragons were sealed by Naga presumably underground, or in a cave, at the Dragon's Table for thousands of years… and if Robin shares the heart of Grima… and Grima underwent that sealing burial at the Dragon's Table… well, there may certainly be some lingering subconscious distress around the idea of being buried._

_But I digress._

_It is an interesting theory, I would suggest reading into it should you be so inclined. My last note is one of little consequence, more of a Fun Fact: the events of each chapter line up with actual maps from the game, which I wish I had the materials to present visually. Also, small details such as lines of dialog, or even Kellam's earlier lock-picking ability (as he can re-class into a thief) are taken from the story as well._

_Thus concludes my inappropriately long commentary. Without further ado, may the story continue._

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Chapter Six – Hot Water<strong>_

Frederick was never a man for outings – but this was an exception.

The knight stood patiently in the corner of one of Ferox's prided armories. The Shepherds were busy preparing for war alongside the allied Feroxi soldiers, having been sent by the Exalt to fetch reinforcements from their northern neighbor. Emmeryn herself had chosen to return to Ylisstol with her royal guard – against everyone's wishes. And although she had assured the group that everything would be fine; they were all anxious to return to the capitol with aid.

But while the Feroxi army was mobilizing, there were still a few last-minute things to take care of in town. And while Frederick conducted such errands in a manner professional as ever; Lissa was another story.

The princess clapped her hands in excitement as Robin inspected herself in the mirror.

"Oooooh Robin, you look great!" Lissa gushed, manually spinning her around.

"You think so?" the tactician straightened her hem with a wide smile plastered on her face. A Ylissian Master's Seal was pinned proudly on the front of her newly-tailored coat – recognizing Robin's new position as an official ranking officer.

Frederick watched the two girls quietly. The tactician had come far, both on and off the battlefield; and he wasn't surprised when Chrom insisted she be evaluated for the promotion. Frederick had tested her himself, along with what few other high-ranking knights Ylisse could spare for the occasion; and she passed with flying colors. The ceremony was small, but Robin looked fit to burst with pride as the officer's badge was presented. In a way, it reminded Frederick of his own knighting – though not nearly as grandiose in Ylissian tradition.

She was "Grandmaster Robin" now. At least, to the lower-ranking troops. The foot soldiers of their forces were now firmly under her capable command.

And of course, the prince and princess insisted that she be fitted for some proper armor to match her station. Chrom had just recently been given his own set (finally allowing the tailor to cover his chronically-unprotected right bicep); and now it was Robin's turn. The tactician twisted around experimentally, reveling in how the smooth, engraved metal plates glided over each other. Chrom and Lissa had demanded nothing less than the finest quality for their Grandmaster.

Her Plegian coat had also been mended and lined with some protective bits of gilded leather. It spun out in a flourish as she turned in a circle, unsheathing her iron sword and giving it a few swings.

"_Ahem_," Frederick cleared his throat, interrupting the girls' chatter. Two pairs of curious eyes turned his way.

"Robin, do you intend to be using that on the battlefield?" He said sternly, eyeing the worn-out weapon in her hand.

She shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. I've been using it for a while now to work on my swordplay." She swiped and parried at the air – her technique had greatly improved.

"I don't know Robin, that one looks pretty old…" Lissa wrinkled her nose as she appraised it.

"Well when it breaks, I'll just grab another one – we've got tons," Robin explained, spinning the handle.

Frederick shook his head disapprovingly. "Wait here," He instructed.

The knight ducked out of the shop to find his horse, returning a minute later with a large parcel under his arm. He offered it to Robin without a word.

"For me?" she wondered aloud. He nodded, gesturing for her to open it.

The tactician unbuckled the binding and folded back the layer of protective cloth, gasping at what she held in her arms.

"_Wow_, Frederick!" Lissa squealed beside her, "Where did you _find_ that?!"

The pristine Levin sword let off a subtle crackle of static as Robin gripped the handle, lifting it up to examine the polished sides.

"The royal armory had purchased some of these swords years ago from a travelling merchant; as luck would have it, this was the only one left - still in perfect condition," Frederick reported, arms once again clasped behind his back.

"It's beautiful…"Robin murmured, admiring the blade in awe.

Frederick allowed himself a small smile. "It is also powerful. In the hands of a thunder-mage like yourself, the damage it can deal is truly devastating," he watched as the sword let off a small shower of sparks, responding to Robin's honed magic. "… Use it wisely," he added.

_Use it to stay alive_, was what he wanted to say.

"Frederick… thank you. I love it."

Robin graced him with a sincere smile, carefully refastening the cloth around her new blade. The knight blinked, feeling his face heat without his permission.

He cleared his throat again, "We should be off then, there are more preparations to make before we march."

Frederick formally thanked (and paid) the armorer for his services, before leading his charges back to the Shepherds' camp. Once outside, he discreetly tested a hand against the flushed skin of his face – concerned that he may be coming down with a fever. He frowned as the sensation subsided. Perhaps it was nothing.

Frederick dropped his hand, not knowing that a certain gossipy princess was giggling behind his back.

* * *

><p>By the time the Shepherds were ready to march – with the Feroxi Army at their backs – Basilio's scouts had returned with sobering news.<p>

Ylisstol had fallen – and the Exalt taken hostage.

Immediate orders were given to redirect the troops. At Chrom and Flavia's command, they prepared to march straight into Plegia.

For all his recklessness, Chrom was surprisingly calm and focused. In a way, he had almost expected something like this to happen; and now that it had, there was nothing left to do but act quickly and efficiently. He and Robin spent their nights pouring over maps and discussing every possible strategy. With a Grandmaster tactician, and the might of Regna Ferox at their command, the prince was confident that they would save his sister before her scheduled execution.

But the same could not be said for Ylisse's Captain of Cavalry.

If Frederick had been stressed before, it was no comparison to how he felt now. He watched the royal siblings like a hawk, and constantly demanded that the soldiers increase their pace. He may not have been assigned to Emmeryn's royal guard, but the guilt and anxiety of imagining her at the mercy of her captors was nonetheless eating him alive. The responsibility of looking after Chrom and Lissa was _not enough_ – surely, he thought, there was _something_ he could have done to protect the Exalt.

Frederick paced the camp like a restless ghost, leaving clean tents and polished weapons in his wake. He traded his sleep for hours of extra training, but even that was not satisfactory. As the army began marching into a warmer climate, the heaviness of his brow deepened at the same rate of his sleep-circled eyes.

He also worried about Robin, despite the fact that she was the last person he should be concerned with. The tactician was in no danger; she was surrounded by capable allies and able to fend for herself now. She had the endurance to march through harsh terrain, and was often occupied with drilling the Shepherds and Feroxi foot-soldiers in her free time. She didn't need assistance in her training anymore; and she most certainly didn't need an armored babysitter and a ride on horseback.

But still, Frederick could not shake his desire to keep her nearby.

Perhaps it was simply conditioning; after so much time spent guarding her, it made sense that the habit was not easily broken. But it was more than that. No longer being responsible for Robin's care _unnerved _him – and Frederick could not afford to lose what little composure he still had.

He watched her on the march, walking alongside the prince and talking his ear off about war tactics. Sometimes, she carried a strategy book, flipping through the pages while her feet followed the caravan. Sometimes, she stumbled over a rock or branch while her eyes were glued to the text. And every time, Frederick would stop himself from spurring his mare to her side, and lifting her back into her old spot in the saddle.

_Where she belongs_. He thought one day.

The knight frowned, instinctively pulling his horse to a halt. Where on _earth_ did that idea come from? Even if he were still responsible for her safety (which he considered himself to be) she did not… _belong_… with him.

…Right?

No – the idea was silly. She belonged where she was needed: as the Ylissian royal Grandmaster. Whether that was on the front lines, safe beside a partnered comrade, or wedged between the bickering khans, her rightful place was one of necessity. The days in which she had "belonged" on the horse of a guardian knight had passed.

So why did his saddle feel empty? And why did the world seem right in those moments when he stood guard over her war meetings, silent and within arm's reach?

Frederick could muster no explanation.

The knight observed Robin from a distance, the line of marching soldiers passing his stationary horse while he remained occupied. She was smiling at something Chrom was saying, having shut her strategy book to give him her full attention. The prince made some gesture to accompany his story, and Robin's smile widened into a fit of giggles.

It was the first time Frederick had seen her laugh in days. But sight made him… _frustrated_.

Frustrated that at that moment, she belonged right there, laughing with Chrom in a small moment of happiness and relief; instead of by his own side.

Frustrated that there was nothing he could do to make her belong with _him_.

…Or belong _to_ him…

Frederick flinched visibly as the words swam unbidden into his mind, and dropped the train of thought like a hot coal. Such an… inappropriate… _un-knightly…_ thing to think. A knight's charges should never be thought of as _possessions_.

If anything, _he_ was the belonging: he was his Lord's man, his Exalt's servant. He should have no other thoughts but those.

But as Frederick continued to watch Robin smiling at Chrom, his strange frustration only increased. Perhaps now was the time to do something, to pursue some peace of mind… It couldn't hurt. All things considered, he deserved a bit of stress relief.

Convincing himself of the decision, Frederick directed his steed towards the pair. They both turned at the sound of approaching hooves.

"Ah, Frederick! We were just talking about you," the prince grinned up at him.

"Pray tell, milord," the knight raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, just a few stories about growing up with a steel-plated nanny…" Chrom smirked.

Frederick set his jaw. "Milord, I thought we had come to an understanding that-"

"Yes, yes - that you in no way, under any circumstances, a _steward."_

"Precisely."

"But what about that time with the tea party-?"

Frederick cleared his throat loudly. "Twas a _knightly_ duty, milord. The princess's well-being required my service."

"Uh-huh…"

Robin's quiet snickering distracted him from the prince's teasing, and he gazed down at her averted eyes and smothered grin.

He had a proposition to make.

"Milord, if you are quite done with childish stories; I had wished to offer our tactician a ride to scout the area ahead. We are heading into a desert, after all." Frederick said, glancing around at the cracked, dry path and sparse vegetation.

"Sign me _up,_" Robin startled him by practically leaping into the saddle, settling into her seat and swinging her feet contentedly. "I thought you'd never ask," she smiled up at the knight.

Chrom gave her a strange look while Frederick recovered from the shock.

"What? I'm sick of walking," Robin defended herself. She reached down to pat the mare's neck, urging the horse into a trot. The prince rolled his eyes as they parted ways, leaving him in the dust.

Frederick was still stunned.

Robin was right here, in his care once again… and all he had to do was ask. It really was _that easy_.

He found himself fighting the urge to grin.

"Ahh… I missed riding with you," Robin stretched her limbs, having set her book open in her lap. "I know I used to complain… but this is nice. It's calming."

She leaned back against him, as if nothing had changed. Finally allowing himself a satisfied smile, Frederick reached into his saddlebag, and offered her the cushion that he still kept on hand.

"…You are always welcome to ride with me," he admitted, his arms finding their familiar position on either side of her body, grasping the reigns loosely.

"Hm," she hummed happily beneath his chin, cracking open her book as she reclined comfortably. "I'll have to take you up on that more often."

Frederick's chest swelled contentedly. He didn't even care that Robin wasn't using her time with him to scout the terrain, like he had suggested. Just having her close again was enough to ease his mind. This is how it should be.

He knew that the idea was illogical, impractical; but for the first time, Frederick was completely willing to ignore that part of his brain. It was a small sacrifice to make for the inexplicable peace that her company granted him. They rode in companionable silence as his horse wandered farther ahead of the convoy.

"So, Frederick…"Robin spoke up after a few minutes, "Is it true that you first taught Lissa how to tie up her hair?"

The knight sighed. "I suppose Lord Chrom told you that?"

"Mm-hm," she peered over her shoulder, trying to read his expression. "Well, did you?"

"… Yes."

"Oh my _gods._" She collapsed into a small fit of laughter.

"I fail to see how this is amusing."

"How is it _not?_" Robin giggled, "Frederick, where do you _learn_ these things?"

He straightened up importantly. "I make it my business to learn them. I asked the handmaids in the castle to teach me the proper techniques for styling hair. I was the youngest knight in service to the royal family, and since Lady Lissa wasn't the most cooperative child, I learned many skills to help with her care."

Robin snorted, shaking her head at the thought. "Well, I hope you plan on having daughters in the future."

Frederick blanched.

"Why- what makes you say that?!" he sputtered unprofessionally. For some reason, her words caused a rampant blush to spread across his face, and he was severely thankful that she had turned back around.

"Because you'd make a good father," the tactician chuckled, "knowing how to tie back hair is already two steps ahead of any other man."

Frederick opened and closed his mouth, unable to formulate a response. If possible, he reddened even more. He had never seriously considered having a family… becoming a _father_…

"You're lucky, though," Robin continued, unaware of his plight, "I mean, I hardly have any idea about how to manage my hair; maybe I just don't remember," she shook her head, her novice pigtails swaying loosely, "you should have seen my attempt at a braid the other night – it was a disaster."

Frederick coughed, trying to regain his composure. "Braids are hardly a- a difficult endeavor."

"Hah. Speak for yourself," Robin grumbled, toying petulantly with her split-ends.

Frederick hesitated, wondering if he should voice his next request.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat decisively, releasing his grasp on the reigns, "… May I…?" He gestured with an open palm.

Robin took the opportunity to crane her neck around in surprise, but finding the knight's serious expression, she shrugged and dropped her gaze. "Um, sure… go ahead."

"Hold still," he instructed.

The horse ambled along with her two distracted passengers; one trying in vain to concentrate on her book while the other tugged off his gloves and gently gathered up her hair. Frederick worked quickly, first removing her two ties and doing his best to untangle the strands with his calloused fingers. He leaned in and began weaving the wayward locks of hair at her temples into a pair of secure braids, tucking them into the large pale fountain that he tied up expertly at the back of her head.

"…There," he announced when he was finished.

Robin skimmed her curious fingers along the decorative ridges, all hints of teasing gone. "Wow… I wish I could see it… It feels great!" She gave her head an experimental shake, reveling in the feeling of having the pale tresses out of her face.

"I am glad," Frederick replied, resisting the urge to sweep a hand over the single lock that refused to be bound properly. "I should hope it serves you well in battle."

"You bet it will," Robin looked up to meet his gaze, "Can you teach me how to do it?" She asked excitedly.

Frederick averted his eyes. It seemed wrong that he should feel so _happy_ to see that look on her face. Part of him wanted to confess that he would willingly braid her hair every day, if she asked him to.

But for now he simply said, "Of course."

* * *

><p>The air was mercilessly hot as the company began their march into the deserts of Plegia.<p>

The Shepherds and Feroxi troops were en route to the Plegian capitol, and on schedule to arrive before the public execution. But another threat had surfaced: a dangerous group of enemies that had emerged from the underbelly of the nation – and the same forces that had organized the first rogue assassination attempt against the Exalt and her siblings.

The Grimleal.

And if there was one thing that Frederick hated more than being in the desert, it was fighting a Grima-worshiping _cult_ in the desert.

The first enemies had appeared like mirages across the dry, cracked wasteland; chasing a small person through the sands and rubble. When said person turned out to be a dragon tailed by an unwanted mercenary guard – the prince and grandmaster decided that the time had come for the Shepherds to step in.

Frederick was opposed to the idea from the start, but when he was ordered – for the first time – to stay behind with the convoy, words could not express his distress.

"Milord, forgive me, but I _cannot stay behind._ I _must_ fight_!"_

"Frederick, _no"_ the prince faced him down. "Robin's orders are for the cavalry to stay off the field. And I trust her judgment; you know how hard it is for the horses to maneuver in the sand!"

"But, milord, I- _please_ reconsider!" The knight pleaded.

Chrom winced sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Frederick, but you're not an exception this time. What would happen if your horse were to falter and topple you on the field? There is very little help we can send to anyone who gets stranded, and these enemy mages look powerful enough to pose a serious threat…" the prince shook his head, "We need you to stay behind."

Knowing that there was no convincing him, Frederick clenched his fists at his sides. "…As you wish, milord." He ground out with as much civility as he could muster.

Unable to calm his nerves, Frederick paced back to the wagons, cursing mentally at the sand that had already invaded his boots. The sun was beating down on his armor, cooking him from the inside out. Succumbing to a fit of frustration, he hastily unbuckled the heavier plates and tossed them angrily on the ground.

It was so unlike him to be this distraught – maybe it was the heat. He made an attempt to calm himself, splashing out a handful of water from a canteen and rubbing it against his forehead and neck.

It was only _one_ battle. Robin had gotten them this far without losing a single member of the Shepherds, surely they could make it through this conflict without his help. Everything would be okay, he just had to be calm… and have faith…

…But what if some unlucky Shepherd needed a shield? What if Lady Lissa got herself trapped by reinforcements, or Lord Chrom was overwhelmed on the front lines?

…What if Robin got herself hurt? Or killed?

Frederick ran his hands through his hair. The anxiety would drive him mad.

He knew that he could not simply hide with his cavaliers while the rest of the Shepherds marched into battle. He would never – _never_ – outright _disobey_ his Lord's orders, but there had to be another way. He wracked his brain for a solution; he _needed_ to get onto that battlefield – if only just to watch from a distance.

A distant sound caught his attention, drawing the knight's gaze to its source. Flavia and Basilio's scouts had recently reported a possible sighting of Plegian reinforcements coming from the rear; and the convoy was henceforth being readied to take cover in a nearby village during the battle. Frederick's eyes narrowed as he searched the hazy landscape, the gears of his thoughts churning as he pieced together a plan.

It was an outlandish, risky, and stupid plan.

But it could work.

* * *

><p>Chrom squinted across the scorching battlefield.<p>

Coarse grains of sand tossed up by the desert winds bit at his face, and beads of sweat diluted the flecks of enemy blood on his skin. Gaius was at his back, fending off a Grimleal mage while nimbly dodging bolts of dark energy.

"A little _help,_ Blue?!" the thief hissed as he stabbed at his opponent.

"Right," Chrom hefted his sword, watching for an opportunity to leap in. "My turn!" he charged forward, catching the mage off guard.

"Thanks," Gaius huffed as he finished gutting the Plegian, not sounding very sincere. He pulled the dark rim of his shroud further up over his face as another shower of sand barraged them.

"Damn it all," Chrom coughed by his side, "I hate the desert…" he muttered.

"You're preaching to the choir, princey," the thief adjusted his headband, "but would it kill you to focus a little more?"

"I'm sorry, it's just… weren't we supposed to rendezvous with Robin by now?" the prince looked back across the field worriedly while Gaius gulped down a vulnerary and stretched an aching leg.

"So it's taking her and Four-eyes a little longer to reach the dragon-kid," he replied, "I'm sure they're fine."

"I hope so," Chrom hefted his sword and picked up his southward pace.

The pair slogged through the sands, moving at a frustratingly slower speed than the light-footed mages. None of the other Shepherds were in sight, save for Lissa and her bodyguard Lon'qu that were bringing up the rear of the advance a ways back. The rest of the Shepherds had been paired off into fast moving teams, aiming to reach the desert villages with news of danger before any harm could befall the innocent civillians.

Chrom and his partner in swordfighting had been paired together to watch each others' backs as they made their way down the field. The desert landscape was a myriad of sandy rises and hot, rocky terrain, obscuring much of their view of the far-spread Grimleal members. It was almost eerie to feel so alone on the large battlefield – and Chrom couldn't shake the feeling that he and Gaius should be meeting a _lot_ more enemy resistance than they currently were.

"On your toes, Blue," the theif snapped him out of his reverie as they pulled to a brief halt, "There's another one headed our way…" He nodded to dark figure fast approaching, blurred by the heated air.

The figure turned into three figures as it drew closer, and both men sheathed their swords as the leader became recognizable.

"Miriel!" Chrom called with relief, watching the panting mage lead her companions through the harsher sand downfield. She was accompanied by a hulk of a mercenary, who held the hand of a tiny girl while they jogged. The child – who he could only assume to be the same dragon-kin in need of rescuing – stumbled slightly, and tugged on the man's sleeve with a cough; to which he responded by swiftly scooping her up onto his back.

"Oy! Make with the slowing, yes?" The mercenary bellowed, "We are being out of range by now!"

If Miriel heard him, she didn't show it, he gaze solely focused on the prince as she teetered to the side. It was then that Chrom noticed a long gash in her side, clutched under her trembling fingers.

"Oh gods…" he breathed, "Lissa! Get Lissa!"

Gaius swore darkly before turning on heel to fetch the princess. Meanwhile, Chrom sprinted the rest of the distance to the mage's group as they clambered out of the last sandy basin.

"Miriel! What happened?!" the prince demanded as he took her arm over his shoulder. The mage coughed out a lungful of sand, and turned away from the gust.

"Prince Chrom!" she gasped, "We were beset - _*cough*_ - by a f-foul multitude of those heathens!" She managed to draw in a clean breath, wincing as she tried to straighten up. "Robin remained behind, so that we might reach sanctuary - but there were axe-wielders on the horizon! She is in dire need of aid!"

The prince bit out a curse as he led Miriel towards a small rock shelf. He gently sat her down as the mercenary and manakete followed, subtly sporting similar injuries. They were out of the harsher part of the desert, for now – and retreat would be easier on the hard-packed earth that reached towards the nearest village.

Within minutes, Lissa was bounding towards them, with Gaius and Lon'qu on her heels.

"What'd I miss?!" she panted as she slid to a stop.

"Miriel and these two are injured, and Robin's still out there!" Chrom reported anxiously, fear settling deep in his bones as his gaze raked the desert again. There were no signs of movement.

Lissa uttered a very unladylike phrase, and immediately set to work with her staff. She exchanged a worried glance with her brother, "Well, what do we do?! Wherever Robin is out there, we can't reach her! Not before…" She didn't finish the thought aloud, but all present company understood.

_Not before the Grimleal reach her._

Chrom turned back to Miriel, "You've seen no sign of Ricken or the pegasi?" He ascertained, his heart sinking.

She shook her head, "I fear not, Captain; we have not solicited contact with the others since they departed for a subsequent attack on the Western front."

The prince paced anxiously in a circle, clenching his fists. Thinking of Robin out there alone… he felt as if he had personally betrayed her. She was strong; but not strong enough for this. Who knew how long she would last?

"Hey…" a small voice piped up. Chrom looked down to see the dragon-girl tugging childishly on his cape, while holding an injured arm. "Your friend needs help right? The lady who saved us?" Her large eyes searched his.

"Yes." Came his despairing reply, "We can't… we can't afford to lose her."

_What would Frederick say?_ Chrom caught himself thinking, beginning to regret his earlier decision. The great knight may have been impeded by the desert sands, but had he joined the battle there was no doubt in his mind that Robin would be safe. Drastically slowed, and strategically disadvantaged, but _safe_.

For the briefest of moments, he unwillingly imagined a post-battle scene with the knight. A scene in which he had to explain to his lieutenant – his friend – that Robin had died.

The prince shook the nasty thought from his head. No – it couldn't come to that. He couldn't bear to think it.

"Well, then," the girl's voice at his elbow drew his thoughts back to the issue at hand, "why don't you send your wyvern rider?"

Chrom sighed in frustration, looking back down at her wide eyes. "If only I could," he admitted, "We've no dragon knights in Ylisse. Or Ferox."

The girl frowned up at him, "Then who is that?" She pointed at something over his shoulder.

The group turned to seek out the object of her attention. A distant dark smudge was slowly becoming visible through the hot atmosphere.

"The reinforcements," Lon'qu growled tersely, unsheathing his sword and ushering Lissa behind him.

"Why is there only one…?" Gaius wondered aloud, echoing everyone's thoughts.

The smudge became the discernible shape of a coal-blue wyvern, whipping its head against the reigns of its rider as it closed in on the group below. Lissa peered up, shielding her eyes against the sun as she narrowed her gaze at the peculiar-looking rider.

"Wait a minute…" she struggled to see over her bodyguard's shoulder as he herded her backwards. "Gods, is that-?" her eyes widened as the dragon gave a screech and dove towards the earth.

The ground shook slightly as a pair of monstrous talons touched down. The angry wyvern wheeled its blood-red eyes, attempting to snap at the familiar figure on its back.

"_Frederick!"_ A small chorus of cries greeted the knight as he wrestled briefly with his unwilling mount.

"Milord!" he grunted as he tightened a makeshift leather muzzle around the dragon's jaws, "You looked - to be - in need - of aid," he explained between tugs.

Chrom swallowed past his relief.

"_Gods above_! Frederick am I glad to see you!" he called up to the knight, "How did you- where did that wyvern come from?!"

The shimmering navy reptile turned a pair of intelligent, firey eyes on the prince. It hissed and spat before Frederick managed to yank its muzzle back. The knight himself was clad in lightweight leather armor, having kept only his boots and shoulder pauldrons.

"Milord, a band of Plegian reinforcements were stationed to the north; but I managed to intercept them before they made it into the desert. After dispatching of them, I decided to… borrow… one of their mounts."

The royal siblings simply gawked at him in amazement.

"And you can… you can just _ride_ that thing?!" Lissa asked incredulously.

The dragon beneath him bucked and attempted to rear back.

"I am - _*huff* - _learning quickly, milady."

"Nevermind the details, for now," Chrom recovered from his shock, waving off Lissa's curiosity, "Frederick, we need your help. Robin is in danger."

That last sentence, and the grim seriousness with which it was spoken, made Frederick's blood run cold.

_Just as he had feared._

"Where is she?!" he demanded, feeling adrenaline pool in his veins.

"We don't know exactly," Chrom relayed fearfully, "she and Miriel were separated somewhere in the desert basin."

"Gregor knows," the mercenary beside him spoke up, "The lady was leaving us near the bones! The large bones!" He pointed off into the distance, where the wavering shadows of such structures were barely visible.

"She's stranded, and there are still enemies out there," the prince added, resisting the urge to continue his worried pacing, "she needs help!"

Frederick steeled his grip on the foreign reigns, and despite the fear clawing at his heart, his gaze darkened to a positively _terrifying_ look.

If those Grimleal _snakes_ had so much as _touched _a _hair on her head…_

His mount roared beneath him, echoing his raging thoughts.

"_I must go_." He announced, his voice ringing out in a dangerous timbre.

"Please… keep her safe," Chrom implored him.

Frederick nodded to his lord and kicked at the wyvern with a loud "HYAH!" - urging it to beat its wings in a rapid ascent. With a sandy gust, the forms of the Shepherds shrank beneath him as he vaulted powerfully into the sky.

The ride was unsteady, what with the peeved dragon still attempting to be rid of its parasite passenger. Frederick scanned the landscape as they rose higher over the desert, brusquely yanking the unruly mount by the reigns.

The wyvern sounded its displeasure as he finally spotted a flash of enemy movement to the south. "ENOUGH!" the knight roared back at the beast, managing to regain control. He tugged at the leather, forcing the dragon to bank to a lower altitude as he scanned the area. A large train of misshapen forms dominated the area – they had to be the bones. And there, in the sun-beaten heart of the basin, a small swarm of Grimleal soldiers were closing in.

"There!" he shouted to his uncaring mount as he finally spotted a familiar Plegian coat in the sands. The small figure wearing it was already surrounded by fallen enemies, Levin sword glinting in her hand. She stood motionless, but very much alive.

Frederick kicked the wyvern into another dive, aiming to circle in and scoop the tactician up with him. What he hadn't anticipated was that Robin would sway on her feet, and collapse without warning.

The second thing he failed to anticipate was that the advancing enemy mages would recognize him immediately.

A bolt of unexpected wind magic rocketed into his mount, causing the beast to bellow in pain as one of its wings was torn and wrenched in its socket. Frederick caught a glimpse of the sorcerer's wicked grin seconds before his wyvern crashed.

Time seemed to flow slowly, and his heart pounded in his ears. He threw up his hands and instinctively ducked into a roll as the dragon hit the ground and he was catapulted from its back. Scrambling to his feet, Frederick ignored the pain in his limbs as his eyes searched the area and locked on the crumpled tactician.

_Robin…_

She lay face-down in the dirt, her hair tangled and showered with sand. He sprinted over as fast as his feet could carry him – noticing the enclosing line of enemies in his peripheral.

He tried calling her name, but the tactician barely stirred. Her breathing was shallow and uneven. He skidded to a halt at her side, heart in his stomach as he turned her over gently.

Robin's eyes fluttered briefly, pupils rolling back like something straight out of a nightmare. Her skin was unnaturally flushed, and burned like fire at his touch. Frederick's heart, however, felt like it was pumping ice.

"Robin…" he tried her name again, brushing her disheveled hair out of her face with nervous fingers. Strands of it were plastered with dried sweat, but her skin was as dry and wind-whipped as the desert sand. He began checking frantically for injuries – something he could nullify with the vulnerary he had packed. So preoccupied was the knight, that he hardly registered the approaching enemies until it was almost too late.

His dragon permeated its pained moaning with an agitated screech, backpedaling away from the advancing Grimleal and their magic tomes. The beast limped to his side, glaring and hissing at everything in sight. Frederick looked up from his panicked scrutiny, heart sinking as he realized the extent of his predicament.

Robin lolled limply in his grasp, and his joints flared with pain. The Grimleal had them surrounded.

This was bad. This was very bad.

The great knight grimaced down at his discarded spear, knowing that each second he spent not tending to Robin was another strike against her odds of surviving whatever had befell her. But it would do them no good if he could not defend against these last enemies. He swore internally, arms constricting around the tactician as he bowed his head.

Laying her in the dirt and turning his back was the hardest thing Frederick had ever done.

Taking up his lance, he faced the attackers, stalking forward to meet their advance.

"Your last breath approaches…" He spat at his enemies in a tone so chilling their line nearly faltered. The look in his eyes was murderous as he charged them.

Frederick fought like a demon. He clashed and parried against steel with a speed he had never before possessed, quickly breaking through the line of soldiers to reach the mages. He slaughtered them mercilessly, watching as their confident looks turned to ones of fear. The last sorcerer nailed him in the chest with a singeing bolt of magic – but Frederick took the hit unfazed, somehow finding the strength not to flinch as agony blazed through him.

He was rewarded with the satisfaction of the sorcerer's horror-stricken expression before cutting him down like an avenging deity.

The Grimleal lay defeated at his feet, but the high of his victory dwindled swiftly, replaced by dread as he dropped his weapon and returned to Robin's side.

She was still unresponsive – but he checked her again, failing to find any wounds that would cause her to collapse as she did. Frederick wiped his brow as the sun razed his back, before realizing what had felled her.

He tested a hand against the skin of her face and arms, wincing at the temperature. Robin was thoroughly overheated.

Lifting her cautiously, he limped over to the wyvern that was still groaning and licking its wounds. He reached out and attempted to position the dragon's untouched wing, providing a small pocket of shade.

Heart still thumping anxiously, Frederick extracted Robin from her heavy cloak. He had seen her without it only once before – back when she was suffering from a thermal issue at the opposite end of the spectrum. But now he had the trial of deciphering her complex Plegian garments, fumbling with the buckles on her armor and belts before carefully removing what layers he could. Had their situation not been so dire, he would have had the decency to blush at his actions. As it was, Frederick could focus on nothing but the fear that she may never awake.

Thankfully, the clothes that Robin was left in were thin and light, although they were already soaked through with sweat. Frederick tried fanning her flushed face, trying in vain to cool her, but not even the desert winds would come to his aid. In his hurry to seek out battle, he had stupidly left his water-skin behind; and now he sat helpless in the stagnant, hot air, hardly daring to touch his charge's overheated skin as her health whittled away.

Frederick was hit by a wave of desperation as Robin's breathing became even softer. Even if he _could_ get her to safety, what good would it do now? Lissa's healing staff would be useless, unable to magically summon coldness to aid Robin. She, like him, and everyone else, was trapped here in the sweltering climate.

Nothing but desert, for miles and miles. Nothing but cursed, god-forsaken-

Frederick paused his internal tirade. A memory of the Shepherds' last war meeting had surfaced in his mind, bringing with it a glimmer of hope. Something he had seen on the maps spread across the table; something he had nearly glimpsed through the steaming air on his flight.

Water. An oasis. Here in the desert.

The knight wracked his brain, trying to recall the location. His eyes raked their surroundings, settling on a distant rise that impeded further view. The oasis should lie just beyond it.

Nearly stumbling over his own boots, Frederick lifted the tactician in his arms once again. He tossed her cloak, weapon, and armor onto the saddle of his useless mount, ignoring the wyvern as it turned a hate-filled eye on him.

"_Move_, you stupid beast!" the knight resisted the urge to whack the dragon with his spear, "Or I'd sooner leave you to bake!"

The wyvern seemed to understand his message well enough, as it quieted its snarling and lumbered after him reluctantly. He tried his best to keep Robin shadowed in the dragon's wing, while the rest of his effort was expended to simply stay on his feet.

Frederick didn't know how long they trekked through that scorching wasteland – he only knew that every step was painful. His injured, tired body rebelled against him; and every moment that passed with Robin unconscious in his arms felt like an eternity.

Together, the knight and dragon walked hell's path.

Frederick had almost given up hope of reaching his goal, when the first wisps of verdant shoreline solidified in his vision. The wyvern sensed it too, and the pair quickened their pace as best they could.

The oasis was barely the size of a small lake, but Frederick thanked every god he could name. He staggered straight into the water, rejoicing in the merciful envelope of cool liquid. Wading in until he could hold Robin in the shallows, he gently began cupping handfuls of water across her shoulders and brow.

After a few minutes, Robin's skin began to cool. Her fingers twitched weakly. Her eyes fluttered consciously.

Frederick felt a surge of relief so strong, it was nearly pain.

"Robin?" he prodded, voice raspy from his dry throat.

The tactician could only muster a weak moan, her breathing ragged.

"It's okay… You are going to be okay."

The knight continued to repeat his words like a mantra, not realizing that he was doing so to convince himself of their truth. He clutched her small form like a lifeline, the two of them submerged in the saving waters of the oasis. With no one around to see, the knight held her as close as he cared to. He shut his eyes and let out a breath, his fevered mind daring to imagine that he could keep her that close forever.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Frederick would convince himself that the hellish heat had been driving his thoughts. He would tell himself that the sheer joy he experienced at Robin's recovery was simply the dizzy happiness of a knight that had saved his charge's life under impossible circumstances. He would deny that when Cordelia had found them in the oasis, he was still holding Robin in a protective embrace.<p>

He would insist that, yes, it must have been the heat.

But still he was drawn to Robin's medical cot, watching over her while she rested. His own wounds had been treated and bandaged; and in a moment of indecision, he gently reached out and took her hand as she slept.

Chrom found him like that, sitting up through the night, replaying the day's horrors in his head. And when his prince asked to hear his thoughts, Frederick bowed his head in quiet confession.

"Milord, I… I have never known such fear."


End file.
